cJLd 


presented  to  the 

MRRAHY 

UNIVF.RSITY  OFCAI.IFORNIA  •   SAN  DIKGO 

by 

FRir.NDS  OF  THF.  I.IBHAHV 

MRS.  NOEL  C.  BARTLETT 


Mountain   Idylls 
and  Other  Poems 


A.  C.  KING 


Junk   iSgo 


Mountain   Idylls 
and  Other  Poems 


BY 


ALFRED  CASTNER  KING 


CHICAGO    :    :    NEW  YORK   :    s  TORONTO 

t     Fleming  H.  Revell   Company 

LONDON  and  EDINBURGH 


COPYRIGHT,      19 

01, 

BY      FLEMING 

H  . 

REVELL    COMPANY.           | 

MAY 

1 

CHICAGO:  125  NO.  WABASH  AVENUB 
NEW  YORK:  158  FIFTH  AVENUE 
TORONTO:  25  RICHMOND  STREET,  W. 
LONDON:  21  PATERNOSTER  SgUARK 
EDINBURGH:        lOO       IRINCES       STREET 


TO  THE  MANY  FRIENDS  WHO  HAVE  SO 
KINDLY  ASSISTED  IN  THE  ARRANGE- 
MENT OF  THE  MANUSCRIPTS  FOR 
PUBLICATION,  AFTER  THE  SHADOWS 
OF  HOPELESS  BLINDNESS  DESCENDED 
UPON  ME  FOREVER,  THIS  VOLUME 
IS         AFFECTIONATELY  DEDICATED 


Oblc  of  Contents. 

PAGE. 

Preface   » 7 

Grandeur    ., n 

Nature's  Child  I9 

To  the  Pines 20 

Reflections 21 

Life's  Mystery 22 

The  Fallen  Tree 23 

There  Is  an  Air  of  Majesty  .  „ - .  25 

Think  Not  That  the  Heart  Is  Devoid  of  Emotion..  26 

Humanity's  Stream o 27 

Nature's  Lullaby  32 

The  Spirit  of  Freedom  Is  Born  of  the  Mountains. .  33 

The  Valley  of  the  San  Miguel 34 

To  Mother  Huberta  36 

Suggested  by  a  Mountain  Eagle  38 

The  Silvery  San  Juan  40 

As  the  Shifting  Sands  of  the  Desert 42 

Missed  43 

If  I  Have  Lived  Before 44 

The  Darker  Side  45 

The  Miner  46 

Life's  Undercurrent   48 

They  Cannot  See  the  Wreaths  We  Place 50 

Mother — Alpha  and  Omega  51 

Empty  Are  the  Mother's  Arms 52 

In  Deo  Fides 53 

Shall  Love,  as  the  Bridal  Wreath,  Wither  and  Die.  54 
Shall   Our  Memories  Live  When  the   Sod  Rolls 

Above  Us 55 


CabU  of  Contctits. 

PAGE. 

A  Reverie 5^ 

Love's  Plea   S^ 

Ashes  to  Ashes,  Dust  to  Dust 59 

Despair   ^ 

Hidden   Sorrows    62 

Oh,  a  Beautiful  Thing  Is  the  Flower  That  Fadeth. .  63 

Smiles    d4 

A  Request 66 

Battle  Hymn  67 

The  Nation's  Peril 68 

Echoes  From  Galilee 7° 

Go,  and  Sin  No  More  75 

Gently  Lead  Me,  Star  Divine ^(> 

Dying  Hymn  11 

In  Mortem  Meditare 78 

Deprive  This  Strange  and  Complex  World 81 

The  Legend  of  St.  Regimund 82 

As  the  Indian  87 

The  Fragrant  Perfume  of  the  Flowers 88 

An  Answer 88 

Fame   89 

The  First  Storm  90 

Thoughts  91 

From  a  Saxon  Legend 92 

Christmas  Chimes   94 

The  Unknowable  95 

The  Suicide  97 

I  Think  When  I  Stand  in  the  Presence  of  Death...  99 

Hope    100 

Metabole  , IQ3 


List  of  Illu9tratton9. 

Portrait  of  Author   Frotitispiece 

"Grandeur"    7 

Mount  Wilson    H 

Mountain    View   in    San   Juan 12 

Scene    in    Ouray    14 

Uncompahgre  Canon   16 

Mountain  Scene  in  San  Juan 18 

Emerald  Lake  21 

Scene  near  Telluride  26 

Bridal  Veil  Falls  32 

Lizard  Head   34 

Trout  Lake   38 

Box  Canon  Looking  Inward 40 

Ouray,   Colorado   42 

Box  Canon  Looking  Outward   48 

Ironton    Park    60 

Bear  Creek  Falls  76 


"A  Wilderness  of  weird  fantastic  shapes." 


PREFACE 

"Of  making  many  books  there  is  no  end." — Eccles.  12:12. 

When  the  above  words  were  written  by  Solo- 
mon, King  of  Israel,  about  three  thousand  years 
ago,  they  were  possibly  inspired  by  the  existence 
even  at  that  early  period  of  an  extensive  and 
probably  overweighted  literature. 

The  same  literary  conditions  are  as  true  to- 
day as  when  the  above  truism  emanated  from 
that  most  wonderful  of  all  human  intellects. 
Every  age  and  generation,  as  well  as  every  chang- 
ing religious  or  political  condition,  has  brought 
with  it  its  own  peculiar  and  essentially  differing 
current  literature,  which,  as  a  rule,  continued  a 
brief  season,  and  then  vanished,  perishing  with 
the  age  and  conditions  which  called  it  into  be- 
ing; leaving,  however,  an  occasional  volume, 
masterpiece,  or  even  quotation,  to  become  classic, 
and  in  the  form  of  standard  literature  survive  for 
generations,  and  in  many  instances  for  ages. 

Poetry  has  always  occupied  a  unique  position 
in  literature ;  and  though  from  a  pecuniary  stand- 
point usually  unprofitable,  it  enjoys  the  decided 
advantage  of  longevity. 

The  mysterious  ages  of  antiquity  have  be- 
7 


queathed  to  all  succeeding  time  several  of  earth's 
noblest  epics,  while  the  contemporaneous  prose, 
if  any  existed,  has  long  lain  buried  in  the  inscrut- 
able archives  of  the  remote  past. 

The  two  most  notable  of  these,  the  Iliad  and 
the  Odyssey,  are  believed  to  have  been  transmit- 
ted from  generation  to  generation,  orally,  by  the 
minstrels  and  minnisingers,  until  the  introduction 
or  inception  of  the  Greek  alphabet,  when  they 
were  reduced  to  parchment,  and,  surviving  all 
the  vicissitudes  of  time  and  sequent  political  and 
religious  change,  still  occupy  a  prominent  place  in 
literature. 

The  Book  of  Job,  generally  accepted  as  the  most 
ancient  of  writings,  now  extant,  whether  sacred 
or  secular,  was  doubtless  originally  a  primitive 
though  sublime  poetical  effusion. 

The  prose  works  contemporaneous  with  Chau- 
cer, Spencer,  and  even  with  that  most  wonderful 
of  literary  epochs,  the  Elizabethan  age,  are  now 
practically  obsolete,  while  the  poetical  efforts  re- 
main in  some  instances  with  increased  promi- 
nence. 

Someone,  (although  just  who  is  difficult  to  de- 
termine,— though  it  savors  of  the  Greek  School  of 
Philosophy, — )has  delivered  the  following  in- 
junction: "Do  right  because  it  is  right,  not  from 
fear  of  punishment  or  hope  of  reward."  Waiving 
the  question  as  to  whether  it  is  right  or  not  to 
compose  poetry,  he  who  aspires  in  that  direction 
8 


can  reasonably  expect  no  material  recompense, 
though  the  experience  of  Dante,  Cervantes,  Leigh 
Hunt,  and  others,  proves  conclusively  that  poets 
do  not  always  escape  punishment.  In  fact,  about 
the  only  emolument  to  be  expected  is  the  gratifi- 
cation of  an  inherent  and  indefinable  impulse, 
which  impels  one  to  the  task  with  equal  force, 
whether  the  ultimate  result  be  affluence  or  a  dun- 
geon. 

The  author  of  this  unpretentious  volume  has 
long  questioned  the  advisability  of  adding  a  book 
to  our  already  inflated  and  overloaded  literature, 
unless  it  should  contain  something  in  the  nature 
of  a  deviation  from  beaten  literary  paths. 

Whether  the  reading  pubhc  will  regard  this  as 
such  or  not  is  a  question  for  the  future  to  deter- 
mine, as  every  book  is  a  creature  of  circumstance, 
and  at  the  date  of  its  publication  an  algebraic  un- 
known quantity. 

It  was  not  the  original  intention  of  the  author 
to  publish  any  of  his  effusions  in  collective  form 
until  more  mature  years  and  riper  judgment 
should  better  qualify  him  for  the  task  of  composi- 
tion, and  should  enable  him  to  still  further  pur- 
sue the  important  studies  of  etymology,  rhetoric, 
Latin  and  Greek,  and  complete  the  education 
which  youthful  environment  denied. 

On  the  17th  of  March,  A.  D.  1900,  occurred  an 
accident  in  the  form  of  a  premature  mining  explo- 
sion which  banished  the  light  of  the  Colorado  sun 
9 


from  his  eyes  forever,  adding  the  almost  insur- 
mountable barrier  of  total  and  hopeless  blindness 
to  those  of  limited  means  and  insufficient  educa- 
tion. At  first  further  effort  seemed  useless,  but 
as  time  meliorates  in  some  degree  even  the  most 
deplorable  and  distressing  physical  conditions, 
ambition  slowly  rallied,  and  while  lying  for  sev- 
eral months  a  patient  in  various  hospitals  in  an 
ineffectual  attempt  to  regain  even  partial  sight, 
the  following  ideas  and  efforts  of  past  years  were 
gradually  recalled  from  the  recesses  of  memory, 
and  reduced  to  their  present  form,  in  which,  with 
no  small  hesitation  and  misgiving,  they  are  pre- 
sented to  the  consideration  of  the  reading  public, 
which  in  the  humble  opinion  of  the  author  has 
frequently  failed  to  receive  and  appreciate  produc- 
tions of  vastly  superior  mc^it. 
Ouray,  Colorado,  Marsh  i$,   igoi. 


lO 


Mountain  Idylls  and  Other 
Poems 

Grandeur. 

Dedicated  to  the  mountains  of  the  San  Juan   district, 
Colorado,  as  seen  from  the  summit  of  Mt.  Wilson. 

I  stood  at  sunrise,  on  the  topmost  part 
Of  lofty  mountain,  massively  sublime; 
A  pinnacle  of  trachyte,  seamed  and  scarred 
By  countless  generations'  ceaseless  war 
And  struggle  with  the  restless  elements ; 
A  rugged  point,  which  shot  into  the  air, 
As  by  ambition  or  desire  impelled 
To  pierce  the  eternal  precincts  of  the  sky. 

Below,  outspread, 
A  scene  of  such  terrific  grandeur  lay 
That  reeled  the  brain  at  what  the  eyes  beheld ; 
The  hands  would  clench  involuntarily 
And  clutch  from  intuition  for  support; 
The  eyes  by  instinct  closed,  nor  dared  to  gaze 
On  such  an  awful  and  inspiring  sight. 

The  sun  arose  with  bright  transcendent  ray, 
Up  from  behind  a  bleak  and  barren  reef ; 
II 


Grandeur. 

His  face  resplendent  with  beatitude, 
Solar  effulgence  and  combustive  gleam ; 
Bathing  the  scene  in  such  a  wealth  of  light 
That  none  could  marvel  that  primeval  man, 
Rude  and  untaught,  whene'er  the  sun  appeared, 
Fell  down  and  worshiped. 

A  wilderness  of  weird,  fantastic  shapes, 

Of  precipice  and  stern  declivity ; 

Of  dizzy  heights,  and  towering  minarets ; 

Colossal  columns  and  basaltic  spires 

Which  pointing  heavenward,  appeared  to  wave 

In  benediction  o'er  the  depths  beneath. 

Uneven  crags  and  cliffs  of  various  form; 
Abysmal  depths,  and  dire  profundities; 
Chasms  so  deep  and  awful  that  the  eye 
Of  soaring  eagle  dare  not  gaze  below. 
Lest,  dizzied,  he  should  lose  his  aerial  poise, 
And  headlong  falling,  reach  the  gulf  beneath. 

Majestic  turrets,  and  the  stately  dome 
Which,  ovaled  by  the  slow  but  tireless  hand 
Of  eons  of  disintegrating  time. 
Still  with  impressive  aspect  rears  its  brow 
Defiant  of  mutation  and  decay. 

The  crevice  deep  and  inaccessible ; 
Fissure  and  rent,  where  the  intrusive  dike's 

12 


■o 


Crandcur. 

Creative  and  destructive  agency 
Leaves  many  an  enduring  monument 
Of  metamorphic  and  eruptive  power ; 
Of  molten  deluge,  and  volcanic  flood ; 
Fracture  and  break,  the  silent  stories  tell 
Of  dire  convulsion  in  the  ages  past ; 
Of  subterranean  catastrophe, 
And  cataclysm  of  internal  force. 


The  trachyte  wall,  beseamed  and  battle  scarred ; 
The  porphyritic  tower  and  citadel ; 
The  granite  ramparts  and  embattlements 
Of  nature's  fort,  impregnable  and  wild, 
Stand  as  a  symbol  of  eternal  strength, 
And  hurl  a  challenge  to  the  elements ! 


Canons  of  startling  and  appalling  depths, 

With   caverns,   vast  and   gloomy,  which  would 

seem 
Meet  for  the  haunt  of  centaur  or  of  gnome ; 
The  gorgon  and  the  labyrinthodon ; 
The  clumsy  mammoth  and  the  dinosaur ; 
Or  all  gigantic  and  unwieldy  shapes 
Which  earth  has  seen  in  the  mysterious  past, 
Would  seem  in  more  accord  and  harmony 
With  such  surroundings  than  the  puny  form 
Of  insignificant,  conceited  man. 
13 


And  interspersed  amid  these  solemn  peaks 
Lie  many  a  pleasant  vale  and  grassy  slope, 
Besprinkled  with  the  drooping  columbine, 
And  fragrant  growths  of  all  harmonious  tints, 
Whose  variegated  colors  punctuate 
Grandeur  with  beauty,  and  fearless,  bloom 
In  the  forbidding  shadow  of  the  cliffs, 
And  to  the  margin  of  the  snowy  combs 
Which  still  resist  the  sun's  persuasive  ray. 

A  lakelet,  cool,  pellucid  and  serene, 
Fed  by  the  drippings  from  eternal  snows, 
Lies  like  a  mirror  'neath  a  frowning  cliff, 
Or  as  a  gem,  majestically  ensconced 
In  diadem  of  crag  and  pinnacle. 

Down  towards  the  distant  valley's  sultry  clime, 
Both  solitary,  and  in  straggling  groups; 
In  solid  phalanx,  rigid  and  compact ; 
In  labyrinth  of  branches  interspread, 
Impervious  to  the  rain  and  midday  sun ; 
In  form  spontaneous,  without  regard 
To  law  of  uniformity,  there  stand 
In  silent  awe,  or  whispering  to  the  breeze, 
The  sombre  fir  and  melancholy  pine. 
And  many  a  denuded  avenue 
Of  varying  and  considerable  width. 
Cut  through  the  growth  of  balsam,  spruce  and 
pine, 

M 


"The  trachtye  wall  beseamed  and  battle  scarred." 
Scene  in  Ouray  County,  Colorado.  Page  13 


Orandcur. 

Which  stands  erect  and  proud  on  either  hand, 
Attests  the  swift  and  desolating  force 
Of  fearful,  devastating  avalanche. 

The  mountain  rill  its  pleasant  music  makes, 

As  the  descendant  waters  roll  along, 

In  rhythmic  flow  and  dulcet  cantabile, 

In  various  concord  and  harmonious  pitch. 

Pursuant  of  its  journey  to  the  sea; 

The  murmuring  treble  of  the  rivulet, 

Uniting  with  the  deep  and  ponderous  bass 

Of  torrent  wild  and  foaming  cataract ; 

The  thunderous,  reverberating  tones 

And  seething  ebullition  of  the  falls 

Are  blended  in  one  grand  euphonious  chord. 

Far  in  the  hazy  distance,  as  the  eye 
With  vague  perceptive  vision  penetrates. 
Lie  the  vast  mesas  of  ethereal  hue, 
Stretched  in  a  calm  and  sleepy  quietude. 
Dreamy  repose  and  blue  tranquillity ; 
The  eye  which  rests  upon  the  drowsy  scene 
Beholds  a  dim  horizon,  which  presents 
No  line  of  demarcation  or  of  bounds; 
A  merging  union,  blurred  and  indistinct ; 
Fuliginous  confusion,  that  the  eye 
In  viewing  gazes,  but  no  more  discerns 
Which  is  the  earth,  and  which  the  azure  sky, 
IS 


Grandeur, 

But  mark  the  change ! 
A  cloud,  which  floated  in  the  atmosphere. 
An  inconsiderable  and  feathery  speck 
Of  no  proportions,  now  augmented,  wears 
A  threatening  aspect,  ominously  dark  ; 
Enveloping  the  heaven's  canopy 
In  lowering  shadow  and  portentous  gloom ; 
In  pall  of  ambient  obscurity. 
The  fork-ed  lightnings  ramify  and  play 
Upon  a  background  of  sepulchral  black  ; 
The  growling  thunders  rumble  a  reply 
Of  detonation  awful  and  profound, 
To  every  corruscation's  vivid  gleam; 
In  deep  crescendo  and  fortissimo, 
In  quavering  tremolo  and  stately  fugue 
Echoes,  reverberates  and  dies  away  ! 

But  soon  the  sun,  with  smiling  radiance, 
Through  orifice,  through  rift  and  aperture. 
Invades  the  storm,  and  dissipates  the  clouds. 
Which  scatter,  cowering  and  ephemeral, 
Hugging  the  cliffs,  and  o'er  the  dire  abyss 
Hover,  in  fleecy,  ever  changing  form, 
And  in  a  transient  season  disappear  ; 
Vanish,  as  man  must  vanish,  and  are  gone. 

The  moist  precipitation  of  the  storm 
Revives,  refreshes  and  invigorates 
The  various  vegetation,  and  bedews 
i6 


Grandeur. 

Each  blade  of  grass  and  floweret  with  a  tear ; 
As  nature,  weeping  o'er  the  faults  of  man. 

The  day  recedes,  and  twilight's  neutral  shade 
Succeeds  in  turn,  and  ushers  in  the  night, 
Whose    wings,   outstretched   and   shadowy,    de- 
scend, 
And  in  nocturnal  mantle  robes  the  scene. 

A  hush  prevails  !     Oppressive  and  profound ; 
A  silence,  broken  only  by  the  breeze ; 
A  dormant  quiet-essence  and  repose ; 
Pervading  calm  and  sweet  oblivion, — 
As  nature  wrapt  in  soft  refreshing  sleep. 

Far  in  the  east  a  solitary  star 
Peeps  through  the  sombre  curtain  of  the  night — 
In  hesitating  dubitation  burns  ; 
In  lonely  splendor,  flashes  for  a  time, 
Till  scattering  celestial  lights  appear, — 
The  vanguard  of  an  astral  multitude 
Of  constellations,  jewelled  and  serene. 
Which  fill  the  lofty  dome  of  space,  until 
The  heavens  sparkle  with  the  myriad 
Of  spectra,  nebulae  and  satellite ; 
With  stellar  scintillation,  and  the  orbs 
Of  less  refulgence,  which,  reflective  shine; 
With  falling  star  and  trailing  meteor ; 
17 


Grandeur. 

In  one  grand  culmination,  glittering 
To  their  Creator's  glory! 

A  burst  of  mellow  lunar  radiance 
Inundates  and  illuminates  the  scene ; 
The  waxing  moon,  in  her  meridian  full, 
Her  beam  vicarious  disseminates, 
And  shining,  hides  with  her  superior  light, 
The  twinkling  beauty  of  the  firmament ! 

At  the  stupendous  and  inspiring  sight 

Of  cosmic  grandeur  of  the  universe, 

A  sense  of  vague  and  overwhelming  awe ; 

Of  inconceivable  immensity, 

The  being's  inmost  recess  permeates  ; 

And  man,  the  atom  in  comparison. 

In  spellbound  admiration,  mutely  stands  ; 

With  speculative  meditation,  dwells 

On  that  most  solemn  of  impressive  thoughts, 

The  goodness  of  the  Deity  to  man  !* 


*Composed  at  St.  Anthony's  hospital,  Denver,  Colo., 
from  whence  the  author  was  led  hopelessly  blind. 


i8 


Nature's  CbUct 

I  love  to  tread  the  solitudes, 
The  forests  and  the  trackless  woods. 
Where  nature,  undisturbed  by  man, 
Pursues  her  voluntary  plan. 

Where  nature's  chemistry  distills 
The  fountains  and  the  laughing  rills, 
I  love  to  quaff  her  sparkling  wine, 
And  breathe  the  fragrance  of  the  pine. 

I  love  to  dash  the  crystal  dews 
From  floral  shapes  of  varied  hues, 
And  interweave  the  modest  white 
Of  columbine  in  garlands  bright. 

I  love  to  lie  within  the  shade. 

On  grassy  couch,  by  nature  made, 

And  listen  to  the  warbling  notes 

From  her  fair  songsters'  feathered  throats. 

And  freed  from  artificial  wants, 
I  love  to  dwell  in  nature's  haunts, 
And  by  the  mountain's  crystal  lake 
A  rustic  habitation  make. 
19 


f^aturc^a  Child. 

I  love  to  scale  the  mountain  height 
And  watch  the  eagle  in  his  flight, 
Or  gaze  upon  the  azure  sea 
Of  aerial  immensity. 

I  love  the  busy  marts  of  trade, 
I  love  the  things  which  men  have  made, 
Though  man  has  charms,  none  such  as  these, 
In  him  the  child  of  nature  sees. 


Co  the  FKnc9. 


Ye  sad  musicians  of  the  wood, 
Whose  dirges  fill  the  solitude, 
Whose  minor  strains  and  melodies 
Are  wafted  on  the  whispering  breeze. 
Whose  plaintive  chants  and  listless  sighs, 
Ascend  as  incense  to  the  skies ; 
Do  solemn  tones  afford  relief. 
With  you,  as  men,  a  vent  for  grief  ? 


20 


^  _0       o 

>  5Q     U 


ai#^. 


Rcflccttons. 

On  the  margin  of  a  lakelet, 

In  a  rugged  mountain  clime, 
Where  precipice  and  pinnacle 

Of  countenance  sublime, 
Cast  their  weird,  austere  reflections 

In  the  water's  glistening  sheen, 
I  strolled  in  contemplative  mood. 

Both  pensive  and  serene. 

As  in  a  crystal  mirror, 

In  that  lakelet's  placid  face, 
I  saw  the  mountains  upside  down. 

With  all  their  pristine  grace ; 
I  saw  each  cliff  and  point  of  rocks, 

I  saw  the  stately  pine, 
Inverted  in  fantastic  form 

Below  the  water  line. 

I  paused  in  admiration ; 

And  with  calm  complacency 
I  marveled  at  this  photograph 

From  nature's  gallery ; 

And  as  my  eyes  surveyed  the  scene 
With  solemn  grandeur  fraught^ 


Reflections. 


This  simile  flashed  through  my  mind 
As  instantly  as  thought : 

As  the  stern,  majestic  mountains. 

Without  error  or  mistake, 
Were  reflected  in  the  bosom 

Of  that  cool,  pellucid  lake, 
So  our  every  thought  and  action. 

Be  it  deed  of  hate  or  love. 
May  be  photographed  in  record 

In  that  gallery  above. 


Life's  Mystery. 

I  live,  I  move,  I  know  not  how,  nor  why, 
Float  as  a  transient  bubble  on  the  air, 

As  fades  the  eventide  I,  too,  must  die ; 

I  came,  I  know  not  whence;  I  journey,  where? 


Vhc  fallen  "Crcc 

I  passed  along  a  mountain  road, 

Which  led  me  through  a  wooded  glen, 
Remote  from  dwelling  or  abode 
And  ordinary  haunts  of  men ; 

And  wearied  from  the  dust  and  heat. 
Beneath  a  tree,  I  found  a  seat. 

The  tree,  a  tall  majestic  spruce. 

Which  had,  perhaps  for  centuries, 
Withstood,  without  a  moment's  truce, 
The  wing-ed  warfare  of  the  breeze ; 
A  monarch  of  the  solitude, 
Which  well  might  grace  the  noblest  wood. 

Beneath  its  cool  and  welcome  shade. 

Protected  from  the  noontide  rays, 
The  birds  amid  its  branches  played 

And  caroled  forth  their  twittering  praise; 
A  squirrel  perched  upon  a  limb 
And  chattered  with  loquacious  vim. 

E'er  yet  that  selfsame  week  had  sped, 
On  my  return,  I  sought  its  shade ; 
23 


Cbe  fallen  Crcc 

But  where  it  reared  its  form,  instead, 
A  fallen  monarch  I  surveyed, 

Prostrate  and  broken  on  the  ground, 
Nor  longer  cast  its  shade  around. 

Uprooted  and  disheveled,  there 

The  monarch  of  the  forest  lay; 
As  if  in  desolate  despair 
Its  last  resistance  fell  away, 

And  overwhelmed,  in  evil  hour 
Went  down  before  the  tempest's  power. 

Such  are  the  final  works  of  fate ; 

The  birds  to  other  branches  flew ; 
And  man,  whatever  his  estate. 

Must  face  that  same  mutation,  too! 
To-day,  I  stand  erect  and  tall. 
The  morrow — may  record  my  fall. 


Vhcvc  19  an  Htr  of  JMajcsty* 

There  is  an  air  of  majesty, 
A  bearing  dignified  and  free, 

About  the  mountain  peaks ; 
Each  crag  of  weather-beaten  stone 
Presents  a  grandeur  of  its  own 

To  him  who  seeks. 

There  is  a  proud,  defiant  mein, 
Expressive,  stern,  and  yet  serene, 

About  the  precipice ; 
Whose  rugged  form  looks  grimly  down, 
And  answers,  with  an  austere  frown 

The  sunHght's  kiss. 

The  mountain,  with  the  snow  bank  crowned; 
The  gorge,  abysmal  and  profound ; 

Impress  with  aspect  grand : 
With  unfeigned  reverence   I  see 
In  canon  and  declivity 

The  All-Wise  Hand. 


25 


Cbinh  ]Sot  that  the  ficart  19  Devoid 
of  emotion. 

Think  not  that  the  heart  is  devoid  of  emotion, 
Because  of  a  countenance  rugged  and  stern, 
The  bosom  may  hide  the  most  fervent  devotion, 

As  shadowy  forests  hide  floweret  and  fern ; 
As  the  pearls  which  are  down  in  the  depths  of  the 
ocean, 
The  heart  may  have  treasures  which  few  can 
discern. 

Think  not  the  lieart  barren,  because  no  reflection 
Is  flashed  from  the  depths  of  its  secret  em- 
brace ; 
External  appearance  may  bafile  detection. 

And  yet  the  heart  beat  with  an  ethical  grace : 
The  breast  may  be  charged  with  the  truest  affec- 
tion 
And  never  betray  it  by  action  or  face. 


i6 


"Where   nature's   chemistry   distills, 
The  fountain  and  the  laughing  rills." 

Scene  near  Telluriue,  San  Miguel  County,  Colorado.   Page  19 


Rutnanity's  Stream. 

I  stood  upon  a  crowded  thoroughfare, 
Within  a  city's  confines,  where  were  met 
All  classes  and  conditions,  and  surveyed, 
From  a  secluded  niche  or  aperture, 
The  various,  ever-changing  multitude 
Which  passed  along  in  restless  turbulence. 
And,  as  a  human  river,  ebbed  and  flowed 
Within  its  banks  of  brick  and  masonry. 

Within  this  vast  and  heterogeneous  throng, 

One  might  discern  all  stages  and  degrees, 

From  wealth  and  power  to  helpless  indigence ; 

Extravagance  to  trenchant  penury. 

And  all  extremes  of  want  and  misery. 

Some  blest  by  wealth,  some  cursed  by  poverty; 

Some  in  positions  neutral  to  them  both ; 

Some  wore  a  gaunt  and  ill-conditioned  look 

Which  told  its  tale  of  lack  of  nourishment; 

While  others  showed  that  irritated  air 

Which  speaks  of  gout  and  pampered  appetite ; 

Some  following  vocations  quite  reverse 

From  those  which  nature  had  endowed  them  for ; 

Some  passed  with  face  self-satisfied  and  calm, 

27 


Bumanitj^a  Stream, 


As  if  the  world  bore  nothing  else  but  joy ; 
And   some   there   were   who,   from   the  cradle's 

mouth, 
As  they  pursued  their  journey  to  the  grave. 
Had  felt  no  throb  save  that  of  misery ; 
The  man  of  large  affairs  passed  by  in  haste, 
With  mind  preoccupied,  nor  thought  of  else 
Save  undertakings  which  concerned  himself ; 
The  shallow  son  of  misplaced  opulence 
Came  strutting  by  with  self-important  air, 
With  head  erect  in  a  contemptuous  poise, 
As  if  the  stars  were  subject  to  his  will. 
And  e'en  the  golden  sun  was  something  base, 
Which  had  offended  with  its  wholesome  light 
In  shining  on  so  great  a  personage, 
A  being  more  than  ordinary  clay, 
And  much  superior  to  the  vulgar  herd  ! 
Some  faces  passed  which  knew  no  kindly  look, 
And  felt  no  friendly  pressure  of  the  hand ; 
And  if  the  face  depict  the  character. 
Some  passed  so  steeped  in  crime  and  villainy 
That  Judas'  vile,  ill-favored  countenance 
Would  seem  in  contrast  quite  respectable ; 
Some  features  glowed  with  unfeigned  honesty, 
Some  grimaced  in  dissimulating  craft. 
Some  smiled  benignantly  and  passed  along; 
Some  faces  meek,  some  stern  and  resolute; 
Some  the  embodiment  of  gentleness ; 
Some  whose  specific  aspects  plainly  told 
a8 


rjumamty's  Stream. 


Their    fondest   dreams   were   not  of  earth,  but 

heaven ; 
A  newly  wedded  couple  passed  that  way, 
In  the  sweet  zenith  of  their  honeymoon, 
But  little  dreaming  what  the  future  held. 
The  light  and  trivial  fool,  the  brainless  fop ; 
The  staid  and  sober  priest  and  minister; 
And  she  who  worshiped  at  proud  fashion's  shrine ; 
The  mental  giant,  serious  and  sad ; 
The  thoughtful  student  and  philosopher ; 
And  some  of  intellect  diminutive ; 
The  man  of  letters,  with  abstracted  mien, 
And  he  whose  every  thought  was  on  the  toil 
Which  made  his  bare  existence  possible ; 
The  blushing  maiden,  pure  and  innocent ; 
The  stately  grandam,  dignified  and  gray; 
The  matron,  with  the  babe  upon  her  breast; 
The  silly  superannuated  flirt, 
Who  nursed  her  waning  beauty  day  by  day, 
And  still  essayed  to  act  the  role  of  youth ; 
The  gay  coquette  and  belle  of  other  days, 
Who  in  life's  morning,  with  disdainful  laugh, 
Had  quaffed  the  cup  of  pleasure  to  its  dregs, 
And  now,  grown  old,  must  pay  the  penalty 
In  wrinkles  and   uncourted   loneliness ; 
The  widow,  who,  but  newly  desolate. 
Would  grasp  a  hand,  then  start  to  find  it  gone; 
The  spendthrift  and  the  sordid  usurer, 
Who  knew  no  sentiment  save  lust  for  gold; 

29 


Rumanitj>'s  Stream. 


The  bloated  drunkard,  sinking  'neath  the  weight 

Of  wassail  inclination  dissolute; 

The  youth,  who,  following  his  baleful  stens, 

Reeled  for  the  first  time  from  intemperance ; 

And  she  who  had  forgot  her  covenant, 

In  brazen  infamy  and  unwept  shame ; — 

The  good,  the  bad,  the  impious  and  unjust, 

The  energetic  and  the  indolent. 

The  adolescent  and  the  venerable, 

Passed  by,  pursuant  of  their  various  ways. 


The  aged  and  decrepit  plodded  by. 

Whom  one  would  think  were  ripe  for  any  tomb, 

Yet  quailed  at  dissolution's  very  thought ; 

The  crippled  and  deformed,  with  cane  and  crutch, 

Came  limping  by,  as  eddies  in  the  stream ; 

The  mendicant,  whose  eyes  might  never  see 

The  golden  sunlight,  felt  his  way  along, 

And  though  the  world  was  dark,  still  shrank 

from  death. 
Some  faces  showed  the  trace  of  recent  tears. 
And  some  revealed  the  impress  of  despair; 
Others  endeavored  with  a  careless  smile 
To  hide  a  breast  surcharged  with  hopelessness, 
As  one  afflicted  with  a  foul  disease 
Strives  to  avoid  the  scrutinizing  gaze 
By  the  assumption  of  indifference; 
Some  whose  misfortunes  and  adversities 
30 


Rumamt)'*8  Stream. 


And  oft  repeated  disappointments,  dried 
The  fountain  heads  of  kindness,  and  had  turned 
Life's  sweetest  joys  to  gall  and  bitterness. 
Each  face  betrayed  some  sort  or  form  of  woe; 
In  more  than  one  I  read  a  tragedy. 


How  complex  is  existence !     What  a  maze 
Of  complication  and  entanglement! 
Each  thread  combining  with  the  other  threads 
Fulfills  its  office  in  the  labyrinth ; 
Each  link  concatenates  the  other  links 
Which  constitute  the  vast  and  endless  chain 
Of  human  life,  and  human  destiny, — 
The  strange  phantasmagoria  of  fate. 


So  we,  in  life's  procession,  pass  along 

To  the  accompaniment  of  secret  dirge, 

Or  laughter  interspersed  with  tear  and  groan; 

Nor  pause  a  moment,  nor  retrace  a  step, 

But  march  in  Fate's  spectacular  review 

In  pageant  to  our  common  goal — 

The  Grave. 


3X 


JSaturc'a  Lullaby. 

A  Mountain  Nocturne 

In  forest  shade  my  couch  is  made. 

And  there  I  cahnly  lie, 
With  thought  confined  in  pensive  mind. 

And  contemplate  the  sky; 
I  wonder  if  the  frowning  cliff, 

The  valley  and  the  wood, 
Or  rugged  freaks  of  mountain  peaks, 

Enjoy  their  solitude. 

The  heavens  hold  a  sphere  of  gold, 

A  full  and  placid  moon, 
Suspended  high,  in  cloudless  sky, 

With   constellations   strewn; 
Its  mellow  beam,  on  rill  and  stream. 

In  silvery  sheen  I  see; 
Before  its  light,  the  shades  of  night 

As  evil  spirits,  flee. 

In  space  afar,  a  shooting  star, 
With  swift,  uncertain  course. 

In  dazzling  sparks  its  passage  marks. 
As  it  expends  its  force ; 
32 


^       t/3 


The  mountains  bare  reflect  its  glare 

Of  weird,  unearthly  light, 
And  e'en  the  skies,  in  glad  surprise, 

Behold  its  gorgeous  flight. 

The  spruce  and  pine,  at  timber-line. 

In  straggling  patches  strewn, 
Surcharge  the  breeze  with  melodies, 

The  forests'  plaintive  tune ; 
As  they  descend,  the  waters  blend 

In  babbling  harmony. 
And  soothe  to  rest  my  tranquil  breast, 

With  Nature's  lullaby. 


Vhc  Spirit  of  freedom  is  Born  of  the 
JVIountains, 

The  spirit  of  freedom  is  born  of  the  mountains, 
In  gorge  and  in  canon  it  hovers  and  dwells ; 
Pervading  the  torrents  and  crystalline  fountains, 
Which   dash   through   the  valleys  and  forest 
clad  dells. 

The  spirit  of  freedom,  so  firm  and  impliant, 

Is  borne  on  the  breeze,  whose  invisible  waves 
Descend   from   the   mountain  peaks,    stern   and 
defiant — 
Created  for  freemen,  but  never  for  slaves. 
33 


"Cbe  Valley  of  the  San  MiSfwcl. 

In  the  golden  West,  by  fond  Nature  blest, 

Lies  a  vale  which  my  heart  holds  dear ; 
Where  the  zephyr  blows  from  eternal  snows 

And  tempers  the  atmosphere ; 
Where  the  torrent  falls  o'er  the  mountain  walls, 

As  its  thunderous  echoes  thrill , 
Where  the  sparkling  mist,  by  the  rainbow  kissed. 

Decks  the  Valley  of  *San  Miguel, 

Where  the  birds  of  spring,  in  their  season  sing, 

Their  spontaneous  melodies ; 
Where  the  columbine  and  the  stately  pine 

Stand  quivering  in  the  breeze ; 
Where  the  aspen  tall  hugs  the  trachyte  wall. 

And  the  wild  rose  bedecks  the  hill ; 
Where  the  willows  weep,  and  their  vigils  keep, 

On  the  banks  of  the  San  Miguel. 

Where  the  mountains  high,  cleave  the  azure  sky, 
With  their  turrets  so  bleak  and  gray ; 

Where  the  morning  light  crowns  the  dizzy  height, 
At  the  break  of  the  summer's  day ; 


*San  Miguel,  pronounced  "Magill,"  the  Spanish  form 
of  St.  Michael. 

34 


Cbc  Tallcy  of  the  San  jviigucl. 


Where  the   crags   look   down  with   an  austere 
frown, 

O'er  the  valley  so  calm  and  still ; 
Where  the  mesas  blue,  blend  their  dreamy  hue 

With  the  skies  of  the  San  Miguel. 

Where  the  mountains  hold  a  vast  wealth  of  gold, 

In  the  quartz  ledge  and  placer  bar ; 
Where  the  hills  resound  with  the  constant  sound 

Of  the  stamp  mill's  battering  jar ; 
Where  the  waters  dash  with  the  rhythmic  splash 

Of  the  cascade  and  mountain  rill, 
As  they  laugh  and  flow  to  the  lands  below, 

Through  the  turbulent  San  Miguel. 

Where  the  shadows  glide,  in  the  eventide, 

As  the  sun,  to  nocturnal  rest, 
With  the  dazzling  rays  of  a  world  ablaze. 

Sinks  into  the  distant  west ; 
When  the  yellow  leaf  of  existence  brief. 

Brings  the  hour  when  the  pulse  is  still, 
May  my  ashes  rest  in  the  golden  West, 

On  the  banks  of  the  San  Miguel. 


35 


To  Mother  Rubcrta. 

"As  repeated  in  chorus  on  the  anniversary  of  her  Names- 
day  by  the  Sisters  of  St.  Hubert  at  St.  Anthony's 
Hospital,  Denver,  Col,  Oct.  29,  1900. 

Mother,  our  greetings  be  to  thee, 
On  the  glad  anniversary 

Of  this,  thy  festive  day; 
Thy  daughters,  daughters  not  of  earth, 
But  bound  by  cords  of  Heavenly  birth. 

Their  love  and  greetings  pay. 


We  thank  thee,  Mother,  for  thy  care, 
Thy  watchfulness,  and  fervent  prayer; 

And  if  'tis  Heaven's  will, 
May  many  a  returning  year 
And  namesday  find  our  Mother  here, 

Constant  and  watchful  still. 


Blest  be  that  3v^*:uiTin  brown  and  sere! 
Bless-ed  the  day  and  blest  the  year, 
2/i 


Co  ^oth«r  Bubcrta. 

Of  his*  nativity! 
Blest  be  the  hospitals,  which  rise, 
Resultant  of  thy  enterprise, 

Thy  zeal  and  fervency. 

Blest  be  that  hunter**  saint  of  thine! 
Bless-ed  the  deer,  and  blest  the  sign 

Between  its  antlers  broad ! 
To  us,  thy  daughters,  is  it  given 
To  bless  thee,  in  the  name  of  Heaven, 

And  blessing  thee,  bless  God. 


*St.  Hubert.  **St.  Hubert,  the  apostle  of  Ardennes, 
a  saint  of  the  Roman  Catholic  Church,  the  patron  of 
huntsmen.  He  was  of  a  noble  family  of  Acquitaine. 
While  hunting  in  the  forests  of  Ardennes  he  had  a 
vision  of  a  stag  with  a  shining  crucifix  between  its 
antlers,  and  heard  a  warning  voice.  He  was  converted, 
entered  the  church,  and  eventually  became  Bishop  of 
Maestricht  and  Liege.  He  worked  many  miracles,  and 
.is  said  to  have  died  in  ^2^  or  729.  Spofford's  Cyclo- 
paedia, Vol.  4,  page  470. 


37 


8uggc9tcd  by  a  Mountain  6aglc 

I  gazed  at  the  azure-hued  mantle  of  heaven, 
The  measureless  depths  of  ethereal  space ; 

I  gazed  at  the  clouds,  so  invisibly  driven, 
And  an  eagle,  which  wheeled  with  symmetrical 
grace. 


I  gazed  at  that  eagle,  majestically  wheeling. 
With  dignity,  born  of  the  free  mountain  air; 

I  envied  that  bird,  with  an  envious  feeling 
Which  springs  from  a  heart  that  is  shackled 
with  care. 

I  envied  that  eagle,  which  bowed  to  no  master, 
But  soared  at  his   will,  through   the  ambient 
skies, 
Defiant  of  danger,  and  scorning  disaster, 

He  screamed  at  the  cliffs,  which  re-echoed  his 
cries. 

I  envied  that  bird,  on  that  fair  summer  morning, 
When  nature  lay  decked  with  spontaneous  art. 

As  he  circled,  with  aspect  defiant  and  scorning, 
And  perched  on  a  pinnacle's  loftiest  part. 
J8 


Suggested  by  a  jviountain  eagle. 

And  scanning  the  scene  with  a  stern  indecision, 
He  spread  his  dark  wings,  with  intuitive  cries, 
And  sped,  till  acute  and  inquisitive  vision 
Discerned  but  a  movable  speck  in  the  skies. 

When  the  shades  of  the  evening,  so  listless  and 
dreary. 
Descend  on  the  valley,  his  wing  never  flags, 
As  through  the  dark  shadows  he  soars  to  his 
eyerie, 
Which  nestles  among  the  impregnable  crags. 

Ah !  fain  would  I  rise  on  thy  feathery  pinions, 
Above  the  material  cares  of  the  day, 

And    float    over    earth's    most    enchanting    do- 
minions. 
As  clouds,  by  the  zephyrs,  are  wafted  away ! 


39 


Cbc  Silvery  San  Juan. 

Wherever  I  wander,  my  spirit  still  dwells, 

In  the  silvery*  San  Juan  with  its  streamlet*  and 
dells ; 

Whose  mountainous  summits,  so  rugged  and 
high, 

With  their  pinnacles  pierce  the  ethereal  sky; 

Where  the  daisy,  the  rose,  and  the  sweet  colum- 
bine 

Blend  their  colors  with  those  of  the  sober  hued 
pine; 

Where  the  ceaseless  erosions  of  measureless 
time, 

Have  chiseled  the  grotto  and  canon  sublime ; 

Have  sculptured  the  cliff,  and  the  stern  mount- 
ain wall ; 

Have  formed  the  bold  turret,  impressive  and  tall; 

Have  cut  the  deep  gorge  with  its  wonderful 
caves. 

Sepulchral  and  gloomy;  whose  vast  architraves 

Support  the  stalactites,  both  pendant  and  white, 

Which  with  the  stalagmites  beneath  them  unite; 

Where  nestles  a  valley,  sequestered  and  grand, 

Worn  out  of  the  rock  by  the  same  tireless  hand. 


*Pronunced  San  Wan.     Spanish  form  of  St.  John. 
40 


"Where   the   ceaseless   erosions   of   niea.surcless   lime, 
Have  chiseled  the  grotto  and  canon  suhlime." 

Box  Canon,  Looking  Inward,  Ouray,  Colorado.  Page   '/O 


Cb«  SUwry  San  'Juxru 

Surrounded  by  mountains,  majestic  and  gray, 
Which  smile  from  their  heights  on  the  Town  of 
Ouray. 


Wherever  I  wander,  my  ears  hear  the  sound 
Of  thy  waters,  which  plunge  with  a  turbulent 

bound 
O'er  the  precipice,  seething  and  laden  with  foam ; 
My  ears  hear  their  music  wherever  I  roam ; 
Where  the  cataract's  rhapsody,  joyous  and  light. 
Enchants   in   the   morning   and   soothes    in  the 

night ; 
Where  blend  the  loud  thunders,  sonorous  and 

deep, 
With  the  sobs  of  the  rain  as  the  black  heavens 

weep; 
Where  the  whispering  zephyr,  and  murmuring 

breeze. 
Unite  with  the  soft,  listless  sigh  of  the  trees; 
And  where  to  the  fancy,  the  voices  of  air 
Wail  in  tones  of  distress,  or  in  shrieks  of  despair ; 
Where  mourneth  the  night  wind,  with  desolate 

breath, 
In  accents  suggestive  of  sorrow  and  death ; 
As  falls  from  the  heavens,  so  fleecy  and  light. 
The  winter's  immaculate  mantle  of  white ; 
Wherever  I  wander,  these  sounds  greet  my  ears, 
And  the  silvery  San  Juan  to  my  fancy  appears. 
41 


He  the  Shifting  Sanda  of  the  Dcecrt. 

As  the  shifting  sands  of  the  desert 
Are  born  by  the  simoon's  wrath, 
And  in  wanton  and  fleet  confusion, 
Are  strewn  on  its  trackless  path; 
So  our  lives  with  resistless  fury. 

Insensibly  and  unknown, 
With  a  restless  vacillation 

By  the  winds  of  fate  are  blown ; 
But  an  All-Wise  Hand 
May  have  changed  the  sand, 
For  a  purpose  of  His  own. 

As  the  troubled  and  turbulent  waters, 

As  the  waves  of  the  angry  main. 
Respond  with  their  undulations 

To  the  breath  of  the  hurricane ; 
So  our  lives  on  Time's  boundless  ocean 

Unwittingly  toss  and  roll, 
And  unconsciously  drift  with  the  current 
Which  evades  our  assumed  control; 
But  a  Hand  of  love. 
From  the  skies  above, 
May  have  guided  us  past  a  shoal. 
42 


bD 


Bs  the  Sbifting  Sands  of  the  Desert, 


Ephemeral,  mobile,  and  fleeting, 

Our  delible  paths  we  tread ; 
And  fade  as  the  crimson  sunset, 

When  the  heavens  are  tinged  with  red ; 
As  the  gorgeously  tinted  rainbow 
Retains  not  its  varied  dyes, 
We  change,  with  the  constant  mutation, 
Of  desert,  of  sea,  and  skies ; 
But  the  Hand  which  made. 
Knows  each  transient  shade, 
Which  passes  before  the  eyes. 


Missed, 

Pity  the  child  who  never  feels 

A  mother's  fond  caress ; 
That  childish  smile  a  void  conceals 

Of  aching  loneliness. 

Pity  the  heart  which  loves  in  vain, 

What  balm  or  mystic  spell 
Can  soothe  that  bosom's  secret  pain. 

The  pain  it  may  not  tell? 

Pity  those  missed  by  Cupid's  darts, 
For  'twas  ordained  for  such. 

Who  love  at  random,  but  whose  hearts 
Feel  no  responsive  touch. 
43 


If  X  Rave  Lived  Before 

If  I  have  lived  before,  some  evidence 

Should  that  existence  to  the  present  bind; 

Some  innate  inkling  of  experience 

Should  still  imbue  and  permeate  the  mind, 

If  we,  progressing,  pass  from  state  to  state, 

Or  retrograde,  as  turns  the  wheel  of  fate. 

If  I  have  lived  before,  and  could  my  eyes 

But   view   the    scenes    wherein   that    life    was 
spent, 

Or  even  for  an  instant  recognize 

The  climes,  conditions  and  environment 

Beloved  by  them  in  that  pre-natal  span. 

Though  past  and  future  both  be  sealed  to  man ; 

Or,  if  perchance,  kind  memory  should  ope* 
Her  floodgates,  with  fond  recollection  fraught, 

'Twould  then  renew  the  dormant  fires  of  hope, 
Now  smothered  out  by  speculative  thought ; 

'Twould  then  rekindle  faith  within  a  breast. 

Where  doubt  is  now  the  sole  remaining  guest. 


44 


Vhc  Darhcr  Side. 

They  say  that  all  nature  is  smiling  and  gay, 
And  the  birds  the  most  happy  of  all, 

But  the  sparrow,  pursued  by  the  sparrowhawk, 
Savors  more  of  the  wormwood  and  gall. 

They  say  that  all  nature  is  smiling  and  gay. 
But  the  groan  may  dissemble  the  laugh ; 

E'en  now  from  the  meadow  is  wafted  the  sound 
Of  a  bovine  bewailing  her  calf. 

They  say  that  all  nature  is  smiling  and  gay, 
But  the  moss  often  covers  the  rock; 

Every  animal  form  is  beset  by  a  foe, 
For  the  wolf  always  follows  the  flock. 

For  the  animal  holds  all  inferior  flesh 

As  its  just  and  legitimate  prey; 
Every  scream  of  the  eagle  a  panic  creates 

As  the  weaker  things  scamper  away. 

They  say  that  all  nature  is  smiling  and  gay, 
But  the  smiles  are  all  needed  to  sweeten 

The  struggle  we  see  so  incessantly  waged 
To  eat,  and  avoid  being  eaten. 
45 


Cbc  Darker  Side 


And  men,  with  their  genial  competitive  ways 
Present  no  decided  improvements, 

For  their  personal  gain  they  will  sacrifice  all 
Who  may  stand  in  the  way  of  their  movements. 


Clink!  Clink!  Clink! 

The  song  of  the  hammer  and  drill ! 
At  the  sound  of  the  whistle  so  shrill  and  clear. 
He  must  kavc  the  wife  and  the  children  dear, 

In  his  cabin  upon  the  hill. 
Clink !     Clink  !     Clink  ! 
But  the  arms  that  deliver  the  sturdy  stroke. 
Ere  the  shift  is  done,  may  be  crushed  or  broke, 
Or  the  life  may  succumb  to  the  gas  and  smoke, 

Which  the  underground  caverns  fill. 

Clink!  Clink!  Clink! 
The  song  of  the  hammer  and  drill ! 
As  he  toils  in  the  shaft,  in  the  stope  or  raise, 
'Mid  dangers  which  lurk,  but  elude  the  gaze, 
His  nerves  with  no  terrors  thrill. 
Clink!  Clink!  Clink! 
For  the  heart  of  the  miner  is  strong  and  brave ; 
46 


Cbe  JVIiner. 

Though  the  rocks  may  fall,  and  the  shaft  may 

cave 
And  become  his  dungeon,  if  not  his  grave, 
He  braves  every  thought  of  ill. 

Clink  !  Clink  !  Clink  ! 

The  song  of  the  hammer  and  drill ! 
But  the  heart  which  is  beating  in  unison 
With  the  steady  stroke,  e'er  the  shift  is  done, 

May  be  cold  and  forever  still. 
Clink!     Clink!     Clink! 
He  may  reap  the  harvest  of  danger  sowed, 
The  hole  which  he  drills  he  may  never  load, 
For  the  powder  may  e'en  in  his  hand  explode. 

To  mangle,  if  not  to  kill. 

Clink  !     Clink !     CHnk ! 
The  song  of  the  hammer  and  drill ! 
Facing   dangers   more    grim   than    the   cannon's 

mouth ; 
Breathing  poisons  more  foul  than  the  swamps  of 
the  south 
In  their  tropical  fens  distill. 
Clink !     Clink !     Clink ! 
Thus  the  battle  he  fights  for  his  daily  bread ; 
Thus  our  gold  and  our  silver,  our  iron  and  lead, 
Cost  us  lives,  as  true  as  our  blood  is  red, 
And  probably  always  will. 


47 


Lifers  dtidcrcurrcnt. 

Within  the  precincts  of  a  hospital, 
I  wandered  in  a  sympathetic  mood ; 

Where  face  to  face  with  wormwood  and  with 
gall, 
With  wrecks  of  pain  and  stern  vicissitude. 

The  eye  unused  to  human  misery 

Might  view  life's  undercurrent  vividly. 

My  gaze  soon  rested  on  the  stricken  form 
Of  one  succumhing  to  the  fever's  drouth, 

With  throbbing  brow  intolerably  warm, 

With  wasted  lips  and  mute  appealing  mouth; 

And  when  I  watched  that  prostrate  figure  there 

I  thought  that  fate  must  be  the  worst  to  bear. 

I  next  beheld  a  thin  but  patient  face, 

Aged  by  the  constant  twinge  of  hopeless  pain, 
Wheeled  in  an  easy  chair  from  place  to  place, 

A  form  which  ne'er  might  stand  erect  again ; 
I  viewed  that  human  shipwreck  in  his  chair. 
And  thought  a  fate  like  that  was  worst  to  bear. 

Within  her  room  a  beauteous  maiden  lay, 
Moaning  in  agony  no  words  express, 
48 


"Have  cut  the  deep  gorge  with  its  wonderful  curves." 
Box  Caxox,   Lookixg  Inward^   Ouray^   Color.\do.  Page  39 


Life's  dndercurrcnt* 


A  cancer  eating  rapidly  away 

Her  vital  force, — so  foul  and  pitiless ; 
And  when  I  saw  that  face,  so  young  and  fair, 
I  thought  such  anguish  was  the  worst  to  bear. 

A  helpless  paralytic  met  my  eyes, 

Whose  hands  might  never  grasp  a  friendly 
hand, 
But  hung  distorted  and  of  shrunken  size. 

Insensible  to  muscular   command ; 
His  face  an  abject  picture  of  despair; 
I  thought  a  fate  like  that  was  worst  to  bear. 

With  wasted  form,  emaciate  and  wan, 

A  pale  consumptive    coughed    with    labored 
breath. 

His  sunken  eyes  and  hectic  flush  upon 

His  cheek,  foretold  a  sure  but  lingering  death ; 

I  thought,  whene'er  I  met  his  hollow  stare, 

A  wasting  death  like  that  was  worst  to  bear. 

That  day  with  fetters  obdurate  and  fast, 

With   chain   of   summer,   winter,    spring  and 
fall, 
Is  bounden  to  the  dim  receding  past ; 

Time  o'er  my  life  has  spread  a  somber  pall, 
With  sightless  eyes  I  grope  and  clutch  the  air. 
My  lot  is  now  the  hardest  lot  to  bear. 
49 


Zhcy  Cannot  Sec  the  <ZIrcaths  ^c  place 

They  cannot  see  the  wreaths  we  place 

Upon  the  silent  bier, 
They  cannot  see  the  tear-stained  face, 

Nor  feel  the  scalding  tear, 
And  now  can  flowers  or  graven  stone, 
For  wrongs  done  them  in  life  atone? 

Better  the  flower  that  smooths  the  thorns 

On  earthly  pathway  found, 
Than  that  which  uselessly  adorns 

The  bier  or  silent  mound. 
And  neither  tear  nor  floral  token 
Retracts  the  hasty  word,  when  spoken. 

Then  strew  the  flowers  ere  life  has  fled, 

While  yet  their  eyes  discern; 
Why  waste  their  fragrance  on  the  dead 

Who  no  fond  smile  return? 
The  heaving  breast  with  sorrow  aches, 
Comfort  the  throbbing  heart  which  breaks. 


IMotbci*.— Hlpba  and  Omega. 

Mother!  Mother! 

The  startled  cry  of  childish  fright 
Rang  through  the  silence  of  the  night, 
As  but  the  mother's  fond  caress 
Could  soothe  its  infantile  distress; 
And  the  mother  answered,  with  loving  stroke 
Of  her  gentle  hand,  as  she  softly  spoke : 
"Hush,  hush,  my  child,  that  troubled  cry; 
What  evil  can  harm  thee,  with  mother  nigh  ?" 

Mother!   Mother! 

Long  years  have  passed,  and  the  fevered  brow 

Of  a  bearded  man,  she  is  stroking  now, 

As  through  delirium  and  pain 

He  cries  as  a  little  child,  again. 

And  the  mother  answered,  with  loving  stroke 

Of  her  careworn  hand,  as  she  softly  spoke : 
"Hush,  hush,  my  child,  that  troubled  cry; 

What  evil  can  harm  thee,  with  mother  nigh  ?" 

Mother!   Mother! 
Still  time  rolls  on,  and  an  old  man  stands 
Trembling  on  life's  declining  sands; 
SI 


^Iotbc^— Hlpba  and  Omega. 

As  memory  bridges  the  flood  of  years 
He  cries  as  a  child,  with  childisli  tears ; 
And  memory  answers,  with  loving  stroke 
Of  a  vanished  hand,  and  an  echo  spoke : 
"Hush,  hush,  my  child,  that  troubled  cry; 
What  evil  can  harm  thee,  v^ith  mother  nigh  ?'* 


€nipt)?  arc  the  JMothci^e  Hrme. 

Ah,  empty  are  the  mother's  arms 
Which  clasp  a  vanished  form; 
A  darling  spared  from  life's  alarms, 
And  safe  from  earthly  storm. 

In  absent  reverie,  she  hears 
That  voice,  nor  can  forget; 

The  fond  illusion  disappears,— 
Her  arms  are  empty,  yet. 


52 


In  Deo  fndes. 

Almighty  God !   Supreme !   Most  High ! 

Before  Thy  throne,  in  reverence,  we  kneel ; 
We  cannot  realize  Thine  infinity ; 

Beholding  not,  we  can  Thy  presence  feel; 
Though  veiled  impenetrably,  Thou  dost  reveal 
Such  evidence  as  clouds  cannot  conceal! 

Acknowledged,  though  unseen,  Almighty  Power ! 

Within  its  secret  depths,  the  bosom  pays 
In  pleasure's  or  affliction's  calmer  hour, 

The  heart's  sincerest  offering  of  praise; 
Intuitive,  unuttered  prayers  arise 
Without   the   outstretched   arms,   or   reverently 
clos-ed  eyes. 

Down  deep  within  the  soul's  mysterious  seat, 
The  voice  of  reason,  and  inherent  sense, 

Admits  Thy  Sovereign  Power,  and  doth  entreat 
The  guidance  of  a  Just  Omnipotence; 

Thus  doth  the  human  essence  e'er  depend 

On  that  Supreme.  Eternal.  Without  End. 

Supreme,  Mysterious  Power !  Whate'er  Thou  be, 
Can  e'er  our  mortal  natures  comprehend, 
S3 


In  Deo  fidea. 

This  side  the  veil  which  shrouds  futurity, 

Thy  Wisdom,  Power,  and  Love?    The  end 
Of  all  conckisions,  reasoned  o'er  and  o'er, 
We  know  Thou  dost  exist !     Can  we  know  more? 


Shall  Love  as  the  Bridal  breath,  Clbitbcr 
and  Die? 

Shall  love  as  the  bridal  wreath,  wither  and  die? 

Or  remain  ever  constant  and  sure, 
As  the  years  of  the  future  pass  rapidly  by, 
And  the  waves  of  adversity's  tempest  roll  high, 

Ever  changeless  and  fervent  endure  ? 

Mistake  not  the  fancy,  that  lasts  but  a  day, 

For  the  love  which  eternally  thrives ; 
That  sentiment  false,  is  as  prone  to  decay 
As  the  wreath  is  to  fade  and  to  wither  away; 
And  like  it,  it  never  revives. 


84 


Shall  Our  Memories  Liw  Cdbcn  the  Sod 
Rolls  Hbow  as? 

Shall  our  memories  live,  when  the  sod  rolls  above 
us 
And  marks  our  last  home  with  a  mouldering 
heap  ? 
Shall  the  voices  of  those  who  profess  that  they 
love  us 
E'er  mention  our  names,  as  we  dreamlessly 
sleep  ? 


Will  their  eyes  ever  dim  at  some  fond  recollection, 
Or  their  hands  ever  plant  a  small  flower  o'er 
the  breast, 
Or  will  they  gaze  with  a  sad  circumspection 
At  the  tablets,  which  tell  of  our  last  solemn 
rest? 


Ah !  soon  shall  the  hearts  which  our  memories 
cherish 
Forget,  as  they  strive  with  the  cares  of  their 
own; 

55 


Bhall  Our  Memories  Live  wboi  the  Sod  Rolls  Hbcvc  Cla? 

And  even  the  last  dim  remembrance  shall  perish 
As  we   peacefully   slumber,   unwept  and   un- 
known. 


But  if  our  lives,  though  of  transient  duration, 
Are  filled  with  some  work  in  humanity's  name, 

Some  uplifting-  eflPort,  or  self-immolation, 
Our  memories  shall  live  in  the  temples  of  Fame< 


H  Rcvmc* 


O,  tomb  of  the  past 
Where  buried  hopes  lie. 
In  my  visions  I  see 
Thy  phantoms  pass  by ! 
A  form,  long  departed. 

Before  me  appears ; 
A  sweet  voice,  long  silent, 

Again  greets  my  ears. 

Fond  memory  dwells 

On  the  things  that  have  been ; 
And  my  eyes  calmly  gaze 

On  a  long  vanished  scene; 
55 


H  Reverie. 

A  scene  such  as  memory 
Stores  deep  in  the  breast, 

Which  only  appears 
In  a  season  of  rest. 

Once  more  we  wander, 

Her  fair  hand  in  mine; 
Once  more  her  promise, 

"I'll  ever  be  thine"; 
Once  more  the  parting, 

The  shroud,  and  the  pall, 
The  sods'  hollow  thump 

As  they  coffinward  fall. 

The  reverie  ends — 

All  the  fancies  have  flown 
And  my  sad,  lonely  heart, 

Now  seems  doubly  alone ; 
As  the  Ivy,  whose  tendrils 

Reach  longingly  out, 
Yet  finds  not  an  oak 

To  entwine  them  about. 


57 


Lovers  pica. 

I  love  thee,  my  darling,  both  now  and  forever, 
My  heart  feels  the  thralldom  of  love's  mystic 
spell, 
Tis   fettered   with   shackles  which   nothing  can 
sever. 
To  the  heart  which  responds  to  its  passionate 
swell. 

I  love  thee,  my  darling,  with  love  that  is  stronger. 
Than  all  the  fond  ties  which  the  heart  holds 
enshrined ; 
Adversity,  sorrow  or  pain  can  no  longer 

Detract  from  this  heart,  if  with  thine  inter- 
twined. 

I  love  thee,  my  darling,  with  sacred  affection. 
Which  death,  nor  the  cycles  of  time  shall  efface ; 

Nor  from  my  heart's  mirror,  erase  thy  reflection. 
Nor  tear  thy  fond  heart  from  its  fervent  em- 
brace. 


58 


Hsbcs  to  Hsbcs,  Dust  to  Dust. 

Is  there  a  Death?    The  Hght  of  day 
At  eventide  shall  fade  away ; 
From  out  the  sod's  eternal  gloom 
The  flowers,  in  their  season,  bloom ; 
Bud,  bloom  and  fade,  and  soon  the  spot 
Whereon  they  flourished  knows  them  not ; 
Blighted  by  chill,  autumnal  frost; 
"Ashes  to  ashes,  dust  to  dust !" 

Is  there  a  Death?    Pale  forms  of  men 
To  formless  clay  resolve  again; 
Sarcophagus  of  graven  stone, 
Nor  solitary  grave,  unknown, 
Mausoleum,  or  funeral  urn. 
No  answer  to  our  cries  return ; 
Nor  silent  lips  disclose  their  trust; 
"Ashes  to  ashes,  dust  to  dust !" 

Is  there  a  Death  ?    All  forms  of  clay 
Successively  shall  pass  away; 
But,  as  the  joyous  days  of  spring 
Witness  the  glad  awakening 
59 


Hsbcs  to  Hsbcs,  Dust  to  Dust. 


Of  nature's  forces,  may  not  men, 
In  some  due  season,  rise  again? 
Then  why  this  calm,  inherent  trust, 
"If  ashes  to  ashes,  dust  to  dust?" 


Despair. 

Ill  fares  the  heart,  when  hope  has  fled ; 

When  vanishes  each  prospect  fair, 
When  the  last  flickering  ray  has  sped. 

And  naught  remains  but  mute  despair; 
When  inky  blackness  doth  enshroud 

The  hopes  the  heart  once  held  in  store, 
As  some  tall  pine,  by  great  winds  bowed, 

Doth  snap,  and  when  the  tempest's  o'er. 
Its  noble  form,  magnificent  and  proud. 

Doth  prostrate  lie,  nor  ever  riseth  more; 

Thus  breaks  the  heart,   which  sees   no  hope 
before. 

Ill  fares  the  heart,  when  hope  has  fled; 

That  heart  is  as  some  ruin  old. 
With  ancient  arch  and  wall,  o'erspread 

With  moss,  and  desolating  mold; 
Whose  banquet  halls,  where  once  the  sound 
60 


C    (U 


rt.S 


O    CO 


^   Pw     ej 


o  t; 
c  o 

in  '"^ 


Despair. 

Of  revelry  rang  unconfined, 
Now,  with  the  hoot  of  owls  resound, 

Or  echo  back  the  mournful  wind ; 
In  whose  foul  nooks  the  gruesome  bat  is  found. 

The  heart  a  ruin  is,  when  unresigned ; 

No  hope  before,  and  but  regret  behind. 

Ill  fares  the  heart,  when  hope  has  fled; 

That  heart,  to  fate  unreconciled, 
Though  throbbing,  is  as  truly  dead 

As  though  by  foul  decay  defiled ; 
That  heart  is  as  a  grinning  skull. 

With  smiling  mockery,  and  stare 
Of  eyeless  sockets,  or  the  hull 

Of  shipwrecked  vessel,  bleached  and  bare, 
Derelict,  morbid,  apathetic,  dull. 

As  drowning  men,  who  clutch  the  empty  air, 

The  heart  goes  down,  which  feels  but  blind 
despair. 


6i 


r>tddcn  Sorrows. 

For  some  the  river  of  life  would  seem 
Free  from  the  shallow,  the  reef,  or  bar, 

As  they  gently  glide  down  the  silvery  stream 
With  scarcely  a  ripple,  a  lurch,  or  jar; 

But  under  the  surface,  calm  and  fair, 

Lurk  the  hidden  snags,  and  the  secret  care ; 

The  waters  are  deepest  where  still,  and  clear, 

And  the  sternest  anguish  forbids  a  tear. 

For  others,  the  pathway  of  life  is  strewn 
With  many  a  thorn,  for  each  rose  or  bud ; 

And  their  journey  o'er  mountain,  o'er  moor,  and 
dune, 
Can  be  plainly  tracked  by  footprints  of  blood ; 

But  deeper  still  lies  the  hidden  smart 

Of  some  secret  sorrow,  which  gnaws  the  heart, 

And  rankles  under  a  surface  clear ; 

For  the  sternest  anguish  forbids  a  tear. 

But,  when  the  journey's  end  we  see. 

At  the  bar  of  the  Judge  of  quick  and  dead. 
The  cross,  which  the  one  bore  silently 
62 


FHdden  8orrows> 


May  outweigh  his  of  the  bloodstained  tread. 
The  cross  unseen,  and  the  cross  of  Hght, 

May  balance  in  that  Judge's  sight ; 
O'er   the   heart   that   is  breaking  a   smile   may 

appear, 
For  the  sternest  anguish  forbids  a  tear. 


O,  H  Beautiful  Tbitig  is  the  flowev  that 
fadetb! 

O,  a  beautiful  thing  is  the  flower  that  fadeth, 
And   perishing,    smiles   on   the    chill   autumn 
wind ; 

A  sweet  desolation  its  ruin  pervadeth, 

A  fragrant  remembrance  still  lingers  behind. 

O,  a  beautiful  thing  is  the  glad  consummation 
Of  a  life  that  is  upright,  untarnished  and  pure ; 

That  spirit,  when  freed  from  this  earth's  anima- 
tion. 
Shall  live,  as  the  heavens  eternal  endure ! 


63 


Smiles. 

There  is  the  warm,  congenial  smile, 

Benign,  and  honest,  too, 
Free  from  deception,  fraud,  and  guile; 

The  smile  of  friendship  true. 

There  is  the  smile  most  fair  to  see, 
Which  wreathes  the  modest  glance 
Of  spotless  maiden  purity ; 
The  smile  of  innocence. 

There  is  the  smile  of  woman's  love, 

That  potent,  siren  spell, 
Which  uplifts  men  to  heaven  above. 

Or  lures  them  down  to  hell! 

There  is  the  vain,  derisive  smile. 

Of  cynical  conceit ; 
The  drunken  leer,  the  grimace  vile, 

Of  lives  with  crime  replete. 

There  is  the  smile  of  vacancy, 

Expressionless,  we  find 
On  idiot  physiognomy. 

The  vacuum  of  a  mind. 
64 


Smiles. 

There  is  a  smile,  which  more  than  tears 

Or  language  can  express ; 
The  grim  disguise  which  anguish  wears. 

The  mask  of  dire  distress 

There  is  a  smile  of  practiced  art, 
More  false  than  treason's  kiss; 

But  penetrate  that  dual  heart, 
And  hear  the  serpent's  hiss. 

A  smile,  the  visage  shall  embrace, 

When  nature's  cup  is  full ; 
Behind  the  stern  and  frowning  face 

There  lies  a  grinning  skull. 


OS 


H  Request. 

When  close  by  my  bed  the  Death  Angel  shall 
stand 
And  deliver  his  summons,  at  last; 
When  my  brow  feels  the  chill  of  his  cold,  clammy 
hand, 
And  mortality's  struggles  are  past ; 
When  my   pain   throbbing  temples,  with   death 
sweat  are  cold, 
And  the  spirit  its  strivings  shall  cease. 
As  with  muscular  shrug,  it  relaxes  its  hold, 
And  the  suffering  clay  is  at  peace ; 

E'er  my  spirit  shall  plunge  through  the  shadowy 
vale, 

My  lips  shall  this  wish  have  expressed , 
That  all  which  remains  of  mortality  frail, 

In  some  fair  enclosure  may  rest ; 
Where  disorganized,  this  pale  form  shall  sustain 

The  fragrant  and  beautiful  flowers. 
And  reproduce  beauty,  again  and  again. 

Through  nature's  grand  organic  powers. 


6$ 


Battle  Bjrnin. 

Almighty  Power !    Who  through  the  past 

Our  Nation's  course  has  safely  led ; 
Behold  again  the  sky  o'ercast, 
Again  is  heard  the  martial  tread ! 
Our  stay  in  each  contingency, 
Our  Father's  God,  we  turn  to  thee ! 

For  lo!  The  bugle  note  of  war 

Is  wafted  from  a  southern  strand ! 
O  Lord  of  Battles !  we  implore 

The  guidance  of  Thy  mighty  hand, 
While  as  of  yore,  the  hero  draws 
His  sword  in  Freedom's  sacred  cause ! 

And  when  at  last  the  oaken  wreath 

Shall  crown  afresh  the  victor's  brow; 
And  Peace  the  conquering  sword  resheath, 
Be  with  us  then,  as  well  as  now ! 
Our  stay  in  each  contingency, 
In  peace  or  war,  we  turn  to  Thee ! 


^ 


"Che  J^ations  Peril. 

///  fares  the  land,  to  hastening  ills  a  prey, 
Where  wealth  accumulates  and  men  decay. 

— Goldsmith. 

I  fear  the  palace  of  the  rich, 

I  fear  the  hovel  of  the  poor ; 
Though  fortified  hy  moat  and  ditch, 

The  castle  strong  could  not  endure; 
Nor  can  the  squalid  hovel  be 

A  source  of  strength,  and  those  who  cause 
This  widening  discrepancy 

Infringe  on  God's  eternal  laws. 

The  heritage  of  man,  the  earth. 

Was  framed  for  homes,  not  vast  estates; 
A  lowering  scale  of  human  worth 

Each  generation  demonstrates, 
Which  feels  the  landlord's  iron  hand, 

And  hopeless,  plod  with  effort  brave; 
Who  love  no  Home  can  love  no  land; 

These  own  no  home,  until  the  grave. 

The  nation's  strongest  safeguards  lie 
In  free  and  unencumbered  homes; 
Not  in  its  hordes  of  vagrancy, 
68 


Cbe  JVation*s  periU 

Nor  in  its  proud,  palatial  domes; 
Nor  can  the  mercenary  sword 

E'er  cross  with  that  the  freeman  draws. 
Nor  oil  upon  the  waters  poured 

Perpetuate  an  unjust  cause. 

Eternal  Justice,  still  prevail 

And  stay  this  menace  ere  too  late ! 
Ere  sturdy  manhood  droop  and  fail, 

The  law,  immutable,  of  fate  ; 
No  foe  can  daunt  the  stalwart  heart 

Of  him  who  guards  that  sacred  ground 
Where  every  hero  owns  a  part, 

Where  each  an  ample  home  has  found. 

No  more  shall  battle's  lurid  gleam 

The  cloudless  sky  of  peace  obscure ; 
Nor  blood  becrimson  field,  or  stream, 

Nor  avarice  grind  down  the  poor; 
But  onward  let  thy  progress  be 

A  pageant,  beautiful  and  grand; 
May  He  who  e'er  has  guided  thee 

Protect  thee  still,  my  native  land ! 


6g 


6cboG9  from  Galilee. 

What  means  this  gathering  multitude, 

Upon  thy  shores,  O,  Gahlee, 
As  various  as  the  billows  rude 
That  sweep  thy  ever  restless  sea? 
Can  but  the  mandate  of  a  King 
So  varied  an  assemblage  bring? 

Behold  the  noble,  rich,  and  great, 

From  Levite,  Pharisee  and  Priest, 
Down  to  the  lowest  dregs  of  fate. 
From  mightiest  even  to  the  least ; 
Yes,  in  this  motley  throng  we  find 
The  palsied,  sick,  mute,  halt,  and  blind. 

Is  this  some  grand  affair  of  state, 

A  coronation,  or  display, 
By  some  vainglorious  potentate, — 
Or  can  this  concourse  mark  the  day 
Of  some  victorious  hero's  march 
Homeward,  through  triumphal  arch? 

Or,  have  they  come  to  celebrate 

Some  sacred  sacerdotal  rite ; 
By  civic  feast,  to  emulate 
70 


€cboc9  from  Oatilee* 


Some  deed,  on  history's  pages  bright? 
Or  can  this  grand  occasion  be 
Some  battle's  anniversary? 

But  wherefore  come  the  halt  and  blind? 
What  comfort  can  the  pain-distressed 
In  such  a  tumult  hope  to  find? 
What  is  there  here,  to  offer  rest 

To  those,  whom  adverse  fate  has  hurled, 
Dismantled,  on  a  hostile  world  ? 

Let  us  approach !  A  form  we  see, 

Fairest  beyond  comparison ; 
For  such  an  heavenly  purity, 

From  Otiier  eyes,  hath  never  shown ; 
Nor  such  a  calm,  majestic  brow 
On  earth  hath  ne'er  appeared,  till  now. 

Draw  nearer.    Lo !  a  voice  we  hear. 
Resonant,  soft,  pathetic,  sweet ; 
In  I'inging  accents,  calm  and  clear, 
He  sways  the  thousands  at  his  feet, 
With  more  than  mortal'  eloquence, 
Or  man's  compassion,  in  his  glance. 

Ah !  Strange,  that  such  a  form  should  stand 
In  raiment  soiled,  and  travel  stained ; 

Yes,  mark  the  contour  of  that  hand, 
A  hand  by  menial  toil  profaned. 
7J 


6cboe6  from  Galilee. 


I 


Can  one  from  such  a  station  reach 
All  classes  by  sheer  force  of  speech? 

Can  eloquence  from  mortal  tongue 

Break  through  the  barriers,  which  divide 
The  toiling  and  down-trodden  tlirong 
From  affluence,  and  official  pride? 
Then  how  can  yonder  speaker  hold 
An  audience  so  manifold? 

He  spake  as  never  orator 

Before,  or  since,  with  burning  thought, 
In  parable,  and  metaphor ; 

Each  simple  illustration  taught 

Some  sacred  truth,  some  truth  which  could 
By  sage,  or  fool,  be  understood. 

With  similes  of  common  things. 
The  lilies  of  the  field,  the  salt 
Which  lost  its  sivour;  gently  brings 
A  le;json,  '"rom  the  common  fault 
Of  self-admiring  Pharisee, 
Of  ostentatious  piety. 

And  from  the  prostrate  penitent, 
The  Publican,  w-ho  beat  his  breast. 

Remorsefully  his  garment  rent, 
And  thus,  with  tears,  his  sin  confessed ; 
72 


€cbo€9  from  6aUlcc. 


"Lord,  Lord,  a  sinner  vile  am  I, 
Be  merciful,  and  hear  my  cry !" 

And  from  that  man,  beset  by  thieves, 

And  left  upon  the  road,  to  die ; 
No  aid  or  comfort  he  receives 

From  Priest,  or  Levite,  passing  by; 
How  the  despised  Samaritan 
Proved  the  true  neighbor  to  that  man. 

Yes,  finished  with  such  fervency 

Of  gesture,  and  similitude ; 
Such  depths  of  love,  and  purity 
His  hearers  marvelled,  as  they  stood ; 

Nor  through  his  discourse,  was  there  heard, 
Abusive,  vain,  or  idle  word. 

Who  may  this   wondrous   speaker  be? 

Is  he  some  judge,  or  orator? 
Some  one  in  high  authority? 
Physician,  prince,  or  conqueror? 
Answer,  thou  ever  restless  sea, 
Who  may  this  wondrous  person  be  ? 

With  echoes  soft,  the  sea  replies. 

This  is  a  Judge,  and  Orator ; 
A  Judge,  beyond  all  judges  wise, 

And  eloquent,  as  none  before ; 
73 


echoes  from  OaliUe* 


A  Judge,  majestic,  calm,  serene; 
And  yet,  an  humble  Nazarene. 

He  is  a  Ruler,  whose  command 

The  myriads  of  the  skies  obey, 
As  in  the  hollow  of  His  hand 
He  holds  all  human  destiny. 
The  tempest  wild  concedes  his  will, 
And  calms  before  His  "Peace,  be  still.'' 

A  great  Physician,  too,  is  He, 

Whose  word,  the  leper  purifies ; 
The   mute   converse,   the  blind   ones   see; 
At  his  command,  the  dead  arise; 
He  cures  the  ravages  of  sin, 
And  makes  the  foulest  sinner  clean. 

He  is  a  Prince,  a  Prince  whose  power 

Knows  neither  limit  nor  degree, 
Whose  glory,  not  the  passing  hour, 
Nor  cycles  of  futurity. 

Can  augment,  alter,  or  decrease — 
A  Prince  is  He,  the  Prince  of  Peace. 

He  is  earth's  greatest  Conqueror, 

But  conquers  not  with  crimson  sword ; 
Love  is  the  weapon  of  His  war. 
Forgiveness,  and  gentle  word  ; 
But,  greatest  of  all  victories. 
O'er  the  dark  grave,  His  banner  flies. 
74 


6o,  Hud  Sin  No  Moi^. 

When  the  poor,  erring  woman  sought 

In  tears  the  Master's  feet, 
Her  breast,  with  deep  contrition  fraught, 

Repentance,  full,  complete. 
Divine  compassion  filled  His  eyes, 

He  spake,  says  Sacred  Lore, — 
'O,  erring  heart,  forgiven,  rise. 

Go,  thou,  and  sin  no  more." 

The  tear  of  contrite  sorrow,  shed 

By  penitence,  cast  down. 
Shall  flash,  when  solar  rays  have  fled, 

In  an  eternal  crown; 
That  tear  shall  scintillate,  and  shine. 

When  comets  cease  to  soar ; 
If  thou  would'st  wear  that  gem  divine. 
Go,  thou,  and  sin  no  more ! 


■76 


Gctitly  Lead  Mc,  Star  Divine. 

Gently  lead  me,  Star  Divine, 

Lead  with  bright  unchanging  ray; 

O'er  my  lowly  pathway  shine, 
I  shall  never  lose  my  way ; 

Though  uncertain  be  my  tread, 
Pitfalls  deep,  and  mountains  high, 

Safely  shall  my  feet  be  led, 
By  Thy  beacon,  in  the  sky. 

Lx)ng  ago,  while  journeying 

Westward,  o'er  the  desert  wild, 
Sages  sought  a  promised  King 

In  the  person  of  a  child ; 
By  Thy  bright  illuminings, 

To  that  manger,  in  the  fold. 
Thou   did'st   lead   those   shepherd   kings; 

Lead  me,  as  Thou  lead'st  of  old. 


T^ 


"Wherever  I  wander  my  ears  hear  the  sound, 

Of  thy  waters   which   phmge  with  a  turbulent   sound." 
Bear  Creek  Falls,  Uncompahgre  Canon, 

NEAR  Ouray,  Colorado.  Page  .)! 


Dying  f)ymn. 

The  hour-glass  speeds  its  final  sands, 
In  splendor  sinks  the  golden  sun, 

So  men  must  yield  to  death's  demands 
When  human  life  its  course  has  run. 

We  view  the  ruins  of  the  past, 
We  stand  surrounded  by  decay, 

Our  transient  hours  are  speeding  fast 
And,  e'er  we  think,  have  passed  away. 

Weep  not,  nor  mourn  with  idle  tear 
That  hour,  inevitable  and  sure ; 

We  move,  our  sojourn  finished  here. 
To  nobler  realms  which  shall  endure. 


77 


In  Mortem  Mcditare. 

DYING  THOUGHTS. 

As  Life's  receding  sunset  fades 

And  night  descends, 
I  calmly  watch  the  gathering  shades, 
As  darkness  stealthily  invades 

And  daylight  ends. 

Earth's  span  is  drawing  to  its  close, 

With  every  breath ; 
My  pain-racked  brain  no  respite  knows. 
Yet  shrinks  it,  from  the  grim  repose 

It  feels  in  death. 

The  curtain  falls  on  Life's  last  scene, 

The  end  is  neared  ; 
At  last  I  face  death's  somber  screen, 
The  fleeting  joys  which  intervene 

Have  disappeared. 

And  as  a  panoramic  scroll 

The  past  unreels ; 
The  mocking  [)ast,  beyond  control, 
Though  buried,  as  a  parchment  roll. 

Its  tale  reveals. 

7« 


In  jviortem  J^lcditare. 

I  stand  before  the  dread,  unknown^ 

Yet  solemn  fact ; 
I  see  the  seeds  of  folly  sown 
In  wayward  years,  maturely  grown, 

Nor  can  retract. 

My  weaknesses  rise  to  my  sight; 

And  now,  too  late, 
I  fain  would  former  actions  right, 
Which  years  have  buried  in  their  flight. 

Now  sealed  by  fate. 

My  frailties  and  iniquities 

I  plainly  see ; 
Committed  acts  accusive  rise, 
Omitted  duties  criticise 

In  mockery. 

I  feel  I  have  offended  oft, 

E'en  at  my  best 
Have  failed  to  guide  my  course  aloft ; 
Perhaps  in  trival  hour,  have  scoffed 

With  idle  jest. 

Prone  to  misgiving,  prone  to  doubt, 

And  frail  from  birth ; 
More  light  and  frivolous  than  devout ; 
With  life's  brief  candle  flickering  out, 

I  speed  from  earth. 
79 


Zn  l^ortcm  JAcditAvc 


Can  g^ief  excuse  indifference 
With  groan  or  tear? 

Can  deep  remorse  and  penitence, 

Or  anguish  mitigate  offense 
With  pang  sincere? 

Ah !  Tears  can  ne'er  unlock  tlie  past 

Which  opens  not ; 
And  what  is  done  is  welded  fast, 
Through  all  eternity  to  last, 

Nor  change  one  jot. 

Whate'er  may  lie  beyond  the  veil 

I  calmly  face, 
And  sink,  as  grievous  tears  bewail 
My  faults  and  imperfections  frail. 

In  death's  embrace. 

And  as  I  think  the  matter  o'er, 

Pensive  and  sad, 
While  its  shortcomings  I  deplore, 
The  fruits  which  my  existence  bore 

Were  not  all  bad. 

From  all  which  can  rejoice  or  grieve 

I  shortly  go, 
And  now,  in  life's  declining  eve 
I  wonder,  hope,  try  to  believe — 

Soon  I  shall  know! 
80 


Xn  JVIortem  jvicditare. 


My  spirit  flees,  as  night  enwraps. 

To  its  reward ; 
The  earth  recedes,  I  feel  it  lapse; 
I  sink  as  dissolution  snaps 

The  silver  cord. 

O,  Thou  whose  presence  I  can  feel 

Each  hour  I  live, 
While  passing  through  death's  stern  ordeal, 
Wilt  Thou  Thy  mercy  still  reveal, 

And   still   forgive  ? 


Deprive  Chta  Strange  and  Complex  HloHd, 

Deprive  this  strange  and  complex  world 

Of  all  the  charms  of  art; 
Deprive  it  of  those  sweeter  joys 

Which  music  doth  impart; 
But  oh,  preserve  that  smile,  which  tells 

The  secret  of  the  heart ! 

The  world  may  lose  its  massive  piles 
Which  point  their  spires  above; 

May  spare  the  tuneful  nightingale 
And  gently  cooing  dove ; 

But  woe  betide  it,  if  it  lose 
The  sentiment  of  love ! 
8i 


Ok  Legend  of  8t«  Regtmund. 

St.  Regimund,  e'er  he  became  a  saint, 

Was  much  imbued  with  vulgar  earthly  taint ; 

E'er  he  renounced  the  honors  of  a  Knight 

And  doffed  his  coat  of  mail  and  helmet  bright, 

For  sober  cassock  and  monastic  hood, 

Leaving  the  castle  for  the  cloister  rude, 

And  changed  the  banquet's  sumptuous  repast 

For  frugal  crusts  and  the  ascetic  fast ; 

Forsook  his  charger  and  equipments  for 

The  crucifix  and  sacerdotal  war ; 

While  yet  with  valiant  sword  and  blazoned  shield 

He  braved  the  dangers  of  the  martial  field. 

Or  sought  the  antlered  trophies  of  the  chase 

In   forest  and  sequestered  hunting  place; 

Or,  tiring  of  the  hunt's  exciting  sport. 

Enjoyed  the  idle  pleasures  of  the  court, 

Whiling  away  the  time  with  games  of  chance, 

With  music  and  the  more  voluptuous  dance, 

The  hollow  paths  of  vanity  pursued, 

Laughed,  jested,  swore,  drank,  danced,  and  even 

wooed ; 
No  tongue  more  prone  to  questionable  wit, 
Nor  chaste,  when  time  and  place  demanded  it; 
His  basso  voice,  both  voluble  and  strong, 
82 


Cbc  Legend  of  St.  Regitnund. 

Excelled  in  wassail  mirth  and  ribald  song ; 
He  swore  with  oaths  most  impious  and  unblest ; 
Ate  much,  drank  more,  on  these  lines  did  his  best ; 
Caroused  by  day,  caroused  by  candle  light, 
In  fact  behaved  like  any  other  knight. 

This  medieval  knight  (the  legend  saith) 

For  months  would  scarcely  draw  a  sober  breath ; 

But  as  his  appetite  grew  more  and  more 

Drank  each  day  worse  than  on  the  day  before ; 

Was  drunk  all  night,  all  day  continued  so, 

Indulged  in  every  vice  he  chanced  to  know. 

But  long  debauch  and  riotous  excess 

Reduce  their  strongest  votaries  to  distress ; 

When  nature  can  the  strain  no  longer  stand 

She  chastens  with  a  sure  and  irate  hand, 

So  when  the  day  of  reckoning  had  come, 

She  smote  with  fever  and  delirium 

This  valiant  knight  whom  we  have  tried  to  paint ; 

A  very  slim  foundation  for  a  saint ! 

The  crisis  reached,  his  fever  stricken  brain 
Surrendered  reason  to  excessive  pain ; 
Nor  moment's   respite,   comatose  and  kind, 
Relieved  the  raging  furnace  of  his  mind ; 
And  gruesome  spectres,  awful  and  unreal, 
Through  his  disordered  vagaries  would  steal ; 
When  last  his  scorching  temples  sought  repose 
In  hasty  nap  or  intermittent  doze, 
83 


Cbc  txgcnd  of  St.  RcgitnumL 


His  eyes  beheld,  though  starting  from  his  head, 
A  grizzly  figure  leaning  o'er  his  bed, 
With  aspect  foul  beyond  descriptive  word, 
As  one  for  months  in  sepulchre  interred. 
Restored  again  to  animated  breath, 
A  weird  composite  type  of  life  and  death; 
With  countenance  most  hideous  and  vile. 
Leering  with  ghastly  and  unearthly  smile ; 
Pointing  its  shriveled  finger,  as  in  scorn, 
Of  mockery  and  accusation  born. 

As  he  beheld  in  terror  and  surprise 

This  gruesome  shape  which  mocked  before  his 

eyes 
He  could  distinguish  in  its  haughty  mien 
A  bearing,  something  as  his  own  had  been ; 
Nor  had  its  withered  visage  quite  the  look 
Of  vampire,  ghoul  or  evanescent  spook ; 
And  as  the  apparition  o'er  him  bent, 
He  saw  that  every  seam  or  lineament, 
Contour  of  feature,  prominence  of  bone, 
Bore  all  a  striking  semblance  to  his  own. 

The  horror  stricken  knight  essayed  to  speak. 
But  words  responded  tremulous  and  weak. 
And  mustering  his  dissipated  strength, 
A  sitting  posture  he  assumed  at  length, — 
"Whate'er  thou  art,  thou  harbinger  of  gloom, 
84 


Zhe  lUgend  of  8t.  RegttnuncU 


Thou  fiend  or  ghoul,  fresh  from  the  new  made 

tomb, 
Thou  vampire,  diaboHcal  and  fell, 
Thou  Stygian  shade  or  denizen  of  hell, 
I  charge  thee,  thing  of  evil,  to  confess 
Why  thou  hast  thus  disturbed  my  sore  distress. 
Why  hast  thou  burst  my  chamber's  bolted  door 
Where  guest  unbidden  never  trod  before? 
Break  this  suspense,  so  horrible  and  still! 
Declare  thy  tidings,  be  they  good  or  ill, 
Be  thou  from  Heaven  or  from  the  realms  below. 
I  charge  thee  speak,  be  thou  a  friend  or  foe; 
Break  thou  thy  silence,  ominous  and  deep, 
Or  hence !     Pursue  thy  way  and  let  me  sleep !" 

The  grizzly  spectre,  still  more  ghastly  grown, 
Surveyed  with  visage  obdurate  as  stone. 
Then  smiled  with  grimace  of  derisive  craft, 
And  in  a  most  repugnant  manner,  laughed, 
But  all  the  knight  discerned  with  eye  and  ear. 
Was  his  own  maudlin  laugh  and  drunken  leer. 
"Breathe  thou  thy  message,"  shrieked  the  frantic 

knight 
"Discharge   thy   purpose,   though   it   blast   and 

blight, 
I  charge  thee,  speak,  by  all  that  is  most  fair. 
By  all  most  foul,  I  charge  thee  to  declare ; 
By  my  bright  armor  and  my  trusty  sword ; 
I  charge  thee,  speak,  by  Holy  Rood  and  Word  I" 
85 


Cbe  lUgctid  of  8t.  Regitnund. 


He  sank  exhausted,  in  such  palHd  fright 

The  snowy  sheets  looked  dark  beside  such  white. 

The  spectre  paused  in  silence  for  awhile, 

Then  broke  into  a  most  repulsive  smile, 

And  answered  in  a  weird  and  hollow  tone, 

Enough  to  freeze  the  marrow  in  the  bone: 

"I  am  thy  blasted  spirit's  counterpart, 

A  body  fit  for  thy  most  evil  heart, 

I  am  thy  life,  its  psychic  image  sent 

To  bear  thee  company,  till  thou  repent." 

'Tis  said,  for  forty  days  the  spectre  stayed. 

For  forty  days  the  knight  incessant  prayed ; 

With  scourge,  with  vigil  and  ascetic  rite, 

With  fast,  with  groan  remorseful  and  contrite, 

He  cleansed  his  blackened  spirit  by  degrees, 

And  purified  it  from  its  vanities ; 

And  as  he  prayed,  the  spectre's  gruesome  scowl 

Grew  day  by  day  less  hideous  and  foul, 

As  he  waxed  holy,  it  became  more  bright; 

And  after  forty  days,  arrayed  in  white 

It  spread  its  spotless  arms,  devoid  of  taint 

Above  this  erstwhile  knight  and  henceforth  saint 

In  benediction,  as  he  knelt  m  prayer, — 

Then  vanished  instantly  to  empty  air. 

Such  is  the  tale,  embellished  by  the  ^luse, 
'Tis  true  or  false,  believe  it  as  you  choose; 
Some  folks  accept  the  story  out  and  out, 
86 


Che  lUgend  of  8t.  RegimuiuU 


While  some  prefer  to  entertain  a  doubt. 

But  if  it  be  fictitious  and  unreal, 

'Tis  not  subscribed  and  sworn,  and  bears  no  seal ; 

It  points  a  moral,  as  the  legend  old, 

If  it  conveys  it,  'twas  not  vainly  told, 

For  should  I  such  an  apparition  see — 

I  think  t'would  almost  make  a  monk  of  me. 


Hs  Xiiibe  Indian. 

Lo,  the  poor  Indian,  whose  untutored  mind 
Sees  God  in  the  clouds  and  hears  Him  in  the  Tvind. 

—Pope. 

Within  the  wind,  my  untaught  ear 

The  voice  of  Deity  can  hear, 

And  in  the  fleeting  cloud  discern 

His  movements,  vast  and  taciturn ; 

For  in  the  universe  I  trace 

The  wondrous  grandeur  of  His  face. 

I  see  him  in  each  blade  of  grass, 

Each  towering  peak  and  mountain  pass ; 
Each  forest,  river,  lake  and  fen 

Reveals  the  God  of  worlds  and  men; 
His  works  of  wisdom  prove  to  me, 
A  wise,  creative  Deity. 
87 


Cbc  fragrant  perfume  of  the  flowcra 

The  fragrant  perfume  of  the  flowers, 
Exuding  in  the  summer  hours, 
E'en  as  the  altar's  incense  rare 
Disseminated  through  the  air, 
May  never  reach  the  azure  skies, 
Yet  can  the  tarth  aromatize. 

And  so  the  voice  of  secret  prayer, 
Ascending  on  the  wings  of  air, 
Though  it  should  reach  no  listening  ear. 
Of  Deity  inclined  to  hear, 
Still  soothes  the  anguish  of  the  mind, 
And  leaves  a  tranquil  peace  behind. 


Hn  Hnswcr. 

When  passing  years  have  streaked  with  frost 

These  tresses  now  as  jet, 
When  life's  meridian  is  crossed 

And  beauty's  sun  has  set. 
When  youth's  last  fleeting  charm  is  lost, 

Wilt  thou  be  constant  yet, 
Nor  time  thy  sentiment  exhaust 

And  cause  thee  to  forget? 

If  S(^- 

Tvly  answer,  I  confess, 
Shall  be  a  calm,  decided  "Yes"; 
But  otherwise  a  "No"! 
88 


There  is  a  cliff,  no  matter  where. 
Which  softened  by  the  agencies 
Of  rain,  exposure  to  the  air, 

And  alternating  thaw  and  freeze. 
Most  readily  admits  the  edge 
Of  chisel,  or  the  sharpened  wedge. 

The  travelers,  while  passing  by, 

Within  its  shade  find  welcome  rest; 
And  one  of  them  mechanically, 
As  is  a  custom  in  the  west. 

Upon  its  surface  stern  and  gray 
Carved  out  his  name,  and  went  his  way, 

Though  inartistic  and  uncouth, 
That  effort  of  a  novice  hand 
Exemplifies  a  striking  truth, 
And  may  Time's  ravages  withstand, 
To  be  by  future  ages  read, 
When  years  and  centuries  have  fled. 

So  on  life's  mighty  thoroughfare, 

The  multitude  of  every  class 
Leave  no  inscriptions  chiseled,  where 

Their  transient  footsteps  chanced  to  pass, 


^amc 

And  waft  to  each  succeeding  age 
No  echoes  from  their  pilgrimage 

Though  many  pass,  yet  few  record 
Their  names  in  characters  subHme, 
By  grand  achievement,  work  or  word 
Upon  the  monolith  of  Time  ; 
But  few  inscribe  a  lasting  name 
On  the  eternal  cliffs  of  Fame. 


Cbc  first  Storm. 

The  leafless  branch  and  meadow  sere. 

The  dull  and  leaden  skies, 
Join  with  the  mournful  wind  and  drear 
In  dirges  for  the  passing  year, 

Which  unreturning  flies. 

The  night  in  starless  gloom  descends, 

Nor  can  the  pale  moonshine 
Break  through  the  clouds  whose  veil  extendi 
In  boundless  form,  and  darkly  blends 
With  the  horizon's  line. 

Fond  nature,  in  a  playful  mood, 

In  cover  of  the  night, 
Arrays  the  plain  and  forest  rude. 
The  city  and  the  solitude. 

In  robe  of  spotless  white. 
90 


I  dug  a  grave,  one  smiling  April  day, 

A  grave  whose  small  proportions  testified 
To  empty  arms,  and  playthings  put  away. 
To  ears  which  heard,  when  only  fancy  cried ; 
I  wondered,  as  I  shaped  that  little  mound. 
If  in   my  home  such  grief  should  e'er  be 
found. 

I  dug  a  grave,  'twas  in  the  month  of  June ; 
A  grave  for  one  who  at  his  zenith  died ; 
When,  on  that  mound  with  floral  tributes  strewn, 
The  tear-drops  fell  of  one  but  late  his  bride, 
I  wondered  if  upon  my  silent  bier 
Should  rest  the  moist  impression  of  a  tear. 

I  dug  a  grave  by  Autumn's  sober  light, 

A  grave  of  full  dimensions ;  'twas  for  one 

Whose  hair  had  changed  its  raven  hue  to  white, 

Whose  course  had  finished  with  the  setting  sun  ; 

I  wondered,  as  I  toiled  with  pick  and  spade. 

Where,  and  b/  whom,  would  my  last  home 

be  made. 


91 


from  H  Saxon  Legend. 

Within  a  vale  in  distant  Saxony, 

In  time  uncertain,  though  'twas  long  ago. 

There  dwelt  a  woman,  most  unhappily, 

From  borrowed  trouble,  and  imagined  woe. 

Hers  was  a  husband  generous,  and  kind. 

Her  children,  three,  were  not  of  uncouth  mold ; 

Hers  was  a  thatch  which  mocked  at  rain  and 
wind ; 
Within  her  secret  purse  were  coins  of  gold. 

The  drouth  had  ne'er  descended  on  her  field. 
Nor  had  distemper  sore  distressed  her  kine; 

The  vine  had  given  its  accustomed  yield, 

So  that  her  casks  were  filled  with  ruddy  wine. 

Her  sheep  and  goats  waxed  fat,  and  ample  fleece 
Rewarded  every  harvest  of  the  shear; 

Her  lambs  all  bleated  in  sequestered  peace, 
Nor  prowling  wolf  occasioned  nightly  fear. 

With  all  she  fretted,  pined,  and  brooded  sore, 
Harbored  each  slight  vexation,  courted  grief, 

Shut  out  the  smiling  sunshine  from  her  door. 
And  magnified  each  care  to  has  relief. 
92 


^rom  a  6axoti  Legend. 


Still  waxed  her  grievous  burden  more  and  more, 
Till,  with  a  resolution,  rash  and  blind, 

At  dead  of  night  she  fled  her  humble  door, 
As  if  to  leave  her  grievous  load  behind. 

She  journeyed  as  the  night  wore  slowly  on. 
Unmindful  of  the  tuneful  nightingale, 

Till  in  due  time  her  footsteps  fell  upon 
A  hill,  the  demarcation  of  the  vale. 

As  Lot's  wife,  in  her  flight,  could  not  refrain 
From  viewing  foul  Gomorrah's  funeral  pyre. 

From  one  last  glance  across  that  ancient  plain, 
At  guilty  Sodom  wreathed  in  vengeful  fire ; 

So  when  this  woman  reached  the  summit's  crest, 
She  turned  her  eyes  in  one  last  farewell  look. 

The  fruitful  vale  lay  stretched  in  placid  rest, 
And  all  was  silent  save  the  breeze  and  brook. 

The  moon  in  partial  fullness,  mild,  serene. 

Flooding  the  landscape  with  her  mellow  light, 

Illumined  every  old  familiar  scene. 

Brought  their  associations  to  her  sight. 

When,  lo !  as  if  by  touch  of  magic  wand, 
On  every  roof,  of  tile,  of  thatch  or  wood, 

As  instantly  as  magic  doth  respond, 
A  cross,  of  various  size  and  form  there  stood, 
93 


from  a  8A>:on  Legend. 

O'er  homes  unknown  to  frown  or  g^rievous  word, 
O'er  homes  where  laugliter  hid  the  silent  wail. 

O'er  homes  where  discontent  was  never  heard, 
Huge  crosses  glistened  in  the  moonlight  pale. 

A  cross  o'er  every  habitation  rose, 

O'er  ducal  palace,  and  the  cottage  small 

Where  slept  the  husbandman  in  deep  repose ; 
And,  lo,  her  cross  was  smallest  of  them  all! 


Christmas  Cbitnce. 

Once  more  the  merry  Christmas  bells, 
Are  ringing  far  and  wide; 
Their  chime  in  rhythmic  chorus  swells, 
While  every  brazen  throat  foretells, 
A  joyous  Christmastide. 

What  is  the  burden  of  your  chime, 

Ye  bells  of  Christmastide? 
What  tidings  in  your  clangorous  rhyme, 
What  message  would  your  tongues  sublime 

To  human  hearts  confide? 

Our  chime  is  of  salvation's  plan, 
And  every  Christmastide 
Since  Christmas  bells  to  chime,  began 
We've  caroled  Heaven's  gift  to  man, 
A  Saviour  crucified. 
94 


"Cbc  dtiknowablc. 

O !  Sun,  resplendent  in  the  smiling  morn, 

As  thou  dost  view  the  wastes  of  earth  and  sky, 
Canst  thou  behold  the  realms  of  the  Unborn, 

Canst  thou  behold  the  realms  of  those  who  die? 
Where  dwells  the  spirit  e'er  its  mortal  birth, 

E'er  yet  it  suffereth 
The  pain  and  sorrow  incident  to  earth  ? 

Where  after  death  ? 
The  Sun  gave  answer,  with  refulgent  glow : 
Child  of  a  fleeting  hour,  thou  too  must  die  to 
know. 

Canst  tell,  thou  jeweled  canopy  of  space, 
Bewildering,  and  boundless  to  the  eyes, 
Knowest  thou  the  unborn  spirits'  dwelling  place? 

Knowest  thou  the  distant  regions  of  the  skies 
Where  rest  the  spirits  freed  from  mundane  strife, 

From  mortal  grief  and  care? 
Knowest  thou  the  secret  of  the  future  life? 

Canst  thou  tell  where? 
From  Space  infinite  echoed  the  reply : 
Child  of  a  transient  day,  thou  too,  to  know,  must 
die. 

Ye  Winds  who  blow  and  cleave  the  formless  skies, 
Ye  Winds  who  blow  with  desolating  breath, 

95 


Cbc  dnhnowable. 


Can  ye  reveal  pre-natal  mysteries, 

And  can  ye  solve  the  mystery  of  death? 
Within  thy  amhient  and  viewless  folds 

Imprisoned  in  the  air, 
r'.Iay  not  the  spirits  wait  their  earthly  moulds? 

Then  tell  ye  where. 
The  answer  came  invisible  and  low: 
Frail  child  of  earthly  clay,  thou  too  must  die  to 
know. 

What  are  your  tidings,  O  ye  raging  Seas? 

Do  your  waves  wash  the  islands  of  the  blest, 
Dr  view  the  Gardens  of  Hesperides? 

Know  you  the  unborn  spirits'  place  of  rest? 
And  do  your  waters  lave  that  unknown  shore? 

And  when  the  night  is  gone, 
Shall  the  freed  spirit,  tired  and  faint  no  more, 

Behold  the  dawn? 
The  sad  sea  murmured,  as  its  waves  rolled  high : 
As  all  those  gone  before,  thou,  too,  to  know,  must 
die. 


Vhc  Suktdc. 

What  anguish  rankled  'neath  that  silent  breast? 

What   spectral   figures   mocked   those   staring 
eyes, 

Luring  them  on  to  Stygian  mysteries  ? 
What  overpowering  sense  of  grief  distressed? 

What  desperation  nerved  that  rigid  hand 
To  pull  the  trigger  with  such  deadly  aim? 
What  deep  remorse,  or  terror,  overcame 

The  dread  inherent,  of  death's  shadowy  strand  ? 

Perhaps  the  hand  of  unrelenting  fate 

Fell  with  such  tragic  pressure,  that  the  mind 
In  frenzy,  uncontrollable  and  blind, 

Sought  but  the  darkness,  black  and  desolate. 

Perhaps  'twas  some  misfortune's  stunning  blight, 
Perhaps  unmerited,  though  deep  disgrace, 
Or  vision  of  a  wronged  accusing  face 

Pictured  indelibly  before  the  sight. 

Perhaps  the  gnawing  of  some  secret  sin, 

Some  aberration  fraught  with  morbid  gloom, 
A  buried  hope  which  ever  burst  its  tomb, 

Despondency,  disaster,  or  chagrin. 
97 


Cbc  Suicide 

That  heart  which  throbbed  in  pain  and  discontent 
Is  silent  as  tlie  grave  for  which  it  yearned ; 
That  brain,  which  once  with  proud  ambition 
burned, 

Now  oozes  through  the  bullet's  ghastly  rent. 

Those  eyes,  transfixed  witli  such  a  gruesome  stare, 
Once    beamed    with    laughter,    innocent    and 

bright ; 
The  morning  gave  no  presage  of  the  night ; 

A  smile  may  be  the  prelude  of  despair, 

Whate'er  his  secret,  it  remains  untold, 

For  why  to  human  anguish  add  one  groan? 
Is  grief  the  deeper  grief  because  unknown? 

So  let  the  grave  his  form  and  burden  hold. 

Ye  who  have  felt  no  crushing  weight  of  care. 
From  blame  profuse,  in  charity  refrain  ; 
Some  depths  of  sorrow  overwhelm  the  brain, 

Sop^  loads  too  great  for  human  strength  to  bear. 


98 


X  Cbitik  ^Jdhm  X  otand  In  Che  l>rc8ence 
of  Death. 

I  think  when  I  stand  in  the  presence  of  Death, 

How  futile  is  earthy  endeavor, 
If  it  be,  with  the  flight  of  the  last  labored  breath. 

The  tongue  has  been  silenced  forever. 

For  no  message  is  flashed  from  the  lustreless  eyes, 
When  clos-ed  so  languid  and  weary, 

And  no  voice  from  the  darkness  re-echoes  our 
cries, 
In  response  to  the  agonized  query ! 

We  gaze  at  the  solemn  mysterious  shroud 
With  a  vague  and  insatiate  yearning, 

And  perceive  but  the  sombre  exterior  cloud, 
With  our  vision  of  no  discerning. 

Not  a  whispering  sound,  not  a  glimmer  of  light, 
From  that  shadowy  strand  uncertain; 

But  He  who  ordained  the  day  and  night. 
Framed  also  Death's  silent  curtain. 


99 


Rope* 

Hope  is  the  shadowy  essence  of  a  wish, 
A  fond  desire  which  floats  before  our  eyes ; 

With  lurid  aberration,  feverish, — 

We  chitch  the  shadow  which  elusive,  flies ; 

Though  at  our  grasp  the  mocking  fancy  flees, 

Hope  still  pursues  and  soothes  realities. 

Hope,  as  a  mirage  on  the  desert  waste, 
Lures  the  lost  traveler,  by  a  vision  fair 

Of  gushing  fountains  which  he  may  not  taste, 
Of  streamlets  cool  depicted  on  the  air ; 

With  tongue  outstretched  and  parched  he  onward 
speeds, 

But  as  he  moves  the  phantom  scene  recedes. 

In  the  foul  dungeon  or  the  narrow  cell, 
The  prisoner  doth  pace  his  lonely  beat. 

And  as  he  treads,  his  shackles  clank  a  knell 
Responsive  to  each  movement  of  his  feet; 

Yet  through  his  grated  window,  he  discerns 

The  star  of  hope  which  ever  brightly  burns. 

A  noble  ship  her  ponderous  anchor  weighs. 
Glides  from  the  harbor  and  is  lost  to  sight; 

100 


Rope. 

A  young  wife  waves   farewell.     As  many  days 

In  passing  turn  her  golden  tresses  white, 
She  scans  the  horizon  through  a  mist  of  tears, 
Hopes  for  that  vanished  sail  which  ne'er  appears. 

A  galley  slave  in  age  and  clime  remote, 

Chained  to  his  seat,  unwilling  plies  the  oar; 

Before  his  eyes  fond  dreams  of  freedom  float, 
He  hopes  amid  the  battle's  crash  and  roar ; 

And  as  the  waves  the  imprisoned  wretches  drown, 

Hopes,  as  his  fetters  draw  him  swiftly  down. 

A  mighty  host  in  force  of  arms  we  see, 

With  march  invasive,  cross  a  boundary  line ; 

At  its  approach  no  freemen  turn  and  flee. 
Each  with  his  life  defends  his  family  shrine ; 

As  burning  homes  illuminate  the  sky 

With  ghastly  light,  they  hope  and  fight  and  die. 

Beside  the  bed  where  rests  the  pallid  form. 
Of  loved  one  stricken  with  the  fever's  breath. 

E'en  when  the  loving  hands,  no  longer  warm. 
Portend  the  sure  and  swift  approach  of  Death, 

Hope  holds  the  spirit  in  its  house  of  clay, 

And  with  that  spirit  only,  soars  away. 

The  guilty  wretch,  for  murder  doomed  to  die. 
Hoped,   in   his   dungeon  as  the  death   watch 
paced, 

zox 


f)op«. 

Hoped,  as  the  death  cap  veiled  his  evil  eye, 
Hoped,   as   the   noose   around    his   neck   was 
placed. 
Hoped,  as  the  chaplain  read  his  final  prayer, 
Hoped,  as  he  struggled  in  the  viewless  air. 

In  the  glad  sunshine  of  life's  vernal  spring, 
Hope  buoys  the  spirit  with  expectancy; 

Hope  with  her  dulcet  voice  and  fluttering  wing, 
Sings  of  life's  goal  with  siren  harmony ; 

When  silvered  temples  tell  that  life  declines. 

That  goal,  though  yet  unreached,  still  brightly 
shines. 

Yes !    As  through  failure  and  vicissitude, 
We  sail  along  with  many  an  adverse  wind, 

Hope  plants  her  beacon  in  the  tempest  rude, 
And  leads  with  generous  radiance  unconfined; 

And  when  the  yawning  grave  receives  its  prey, 

Hope  speeds  the  spirit  on  its  astral  way. 


m 


Mctabolc. 

AN  APOSTROPHE  TO  THE  MOON. 

O,  silvery  moon,  fair  mistress  of  the  night. 
Thou  mellow,  ever  vaccilating  orb, 
How  many  eons  of  unmeasured  time 
Hast  thou,  observant  from  thy  astral  poise, 
Thy  ever-changing  station  in  the  skies, 
Beheld  the  wastes  of  earth,  of  air  and  space- 
Ruling  the  waters,  and  the  sombre  night? 

Pale  queen  of  night,  fair  coquette  of  the  skies^ 
Thou,  who  with  fickle,  sweet  inconstancy 
Receives  the  smile  from  the  admiring  sun. 
And  straight  transmits  it  to  the  sordid  earth,-* 
How  many  cycles  of  the  silent  past 
Hast  thou  beheld  the  rise  and  fall  of  man. 
His  proud  ascendency  and  swift  decline; 
His  zenith  and  his  pitiful  decay ; 
E*er  he  emerged  from  out  the  dismal  cave, 
His  habitation  rude  and  primitive ; 
E'er  yet  the  forest  trembled  at  his  stroke, 
E'er  his  indenting  chisel  cleaved  the  stones 
And  framed  the  first  crude  human  domicile? 

As  time  rolled  on  and  human  skill  advanced 
By  almost  imperceptible  degrees 
103 


JVIctabolc. 

Of  slow,  experimental  tutorage, 

Along  a  nobler,  more  artistic  plane, 

He  hewed  the  stones  in  form  of  ornament, 

Sculptured  device  of  various  design, 

Embellishment  of  cunning  symmetry, 

Man's  first  attempt  to  scale  the  realms  of  art 

Thou  hast  beheld  him  on  his  suppliant  kneei. 
Engaged  in  worship,  audible  or  mute. 
Invoking  thy  protection  and  thy  aid, 
Thy  gracious  favor  and  beatitude ; 
With  arms  outstretched  in  reverential  awe. 
Propitiating  thee,  with  fervent  prayer 
For  the  remission  of  thy  baleful  stroke. 
Thou  hast  beheld  his  superstitious  fear 
And  heard  his  curses,  and  his  solemn  prayers 
As  thy  dark  form  eclipsed  the  smiling  sun. 

Thou  hast  beheld  him  fashion  and  adorn 
The  gorgeous  altar  and  the  totem  pole ; 
With  fervent  zeal,  and  blind  simplicity, 
From  base  materials  of  wood  or  stone, 
Carve  out  a  God,  then  kneel  and  worship  it. 

Thou,  too,  hast  heard  the  slave-whip's  poignan* 

crack, 
The  sound  of  avarice  and  turpitude. 
As  hands  unwilling  plied  their  arduous  task. 
Creating  monuments  to  iron  will. 
Human  injustice,  greed  and  servitude. 
104 


]^Ietabole• 

Thou  hast  beheld  him  shape  the  pyramids, 
Heap  up  the  movmd  and  build  the  massive  wall. 
Create  the  castle  and  the  towering  spire, 
The  ponderous  dome  and  stately  edifice. 


From  thy  observant  orbit  in  the  skies, 

Did'st  thou  behold  that  sacrilegious  tower, 

Which  reared  its  massive  form  on  Babel's  plain, 

Built  by  misguided  and  presumptuous  men. 

In  vain  and  ineffectual  attempt 

To  scale  the  heavens  surreptitiously  ? 

E'er  the  completion  of  the  impious  pile, 
Thou  mayest  have  heard,  with  silent  nonchalance. 
That  strange  catastrophe  of  human  speech, 
That  dire  confusion  of  the  languages, 
Confounding  all  the  tongues  and  dialects 
To  unknown  chaos  of  peculiar  sounds. 

Changing  the  conversation  of  the  day 
To  accents  strange  and  unintelligible, 
Unlike  to  common  and  accepted  terms; 
To  tones  mysterious  and  unnatural, 
Conglomerated  forms  of  utterance 
Which  bore  no  semblance  to  the  human  voice. 
Some  rent  the  air  with  unaccustomed  words 
Striving  in  desperation  to  converse, 
With  ears  which  heard,  but  could  not  understand. 
105 


)VIctabolc. 

Some  cursed,  with  oaths  unknown  to  all  but  them, 
While  some  essayed  to  frainr  the  words  of  prayer, 
Or  to  articulate  the  stern  command, 
And  one,  in  most  supreme  authority, 
Declaimed  a  ponderous  regal  ordinance, 
Put  heard  a  sea  of  unfamiliar  sounds, 
Confused  and  desultory  turbulence,  and  disson- 
ance of  harsh,  discordant  tones, 
Instead  of  due  attention  and  applause ; 
Nor  were  his  words  and  usual  forms  of  speech 
Respected  by  the  idle,  wondering  craft, 
Which  lately  comprehended  and  obeyed. 

Workmen  addressed  each  other,  but  conveyed 
No  sense  of  meaning  in  their  jargonings; 
Nor  had  cognizance  from  the  stammered  tones, 
Answered  in  turn,  in  verbal  nothingness; 
The  crabbed  cynic  might  no  longer  rail ; 
Nor  those  of  sober  countenance  discourse. 
In  melancholy  and  foreboding  strains ; 
Nor  light  and  frivolous  sons  of  levity 
On  others  perpetrate  the  humorous  jest ; 
Fathers  attempted  to  correct  their  sons, 
Who,  listening  with  filial  reverence, 
Heard  but  unknown  and  strange  garrulity. 

Some  shrank  in  terror,  as  their  ears  discerned 
Their  own  distorted  eflforts  to  converse ; 
Some  ran  in  aimless  frenzy  to  and  fro, 
io6 


J>Ictabole. 

Falling-  upon  the  earth  with  frantic  cries; 
Some  stood  in  gaping  wonder,  nor  perceived 
The  dire  calamity,  which  bound  them  all 
In  one  unbroken  chain  of  misery. 
Some  beat  their  breasts  in  paroxysmal  woe; 
Some  wore  the  driveling  look  of  idiocy ; 
Some  lost  their  reason  and  serenely  smiled ; 
Some  stalked  with  features  imperturbable, 
Finding  no  tear  nor  vent  for  their  distress ; 
Some  groaned,  some  shrieked,  some  wept  in  their 

despair, 
Relaxing  all  attempts  at  vocal  speech ; 
Some  recognized  the  face  but  not  the  voice 
Of  some  familiar  friend,  and  grasped  the  hand, 
Spoke   with   the   eyes,   when   words  no   longer 

served. 


Did'st  thou  behold  that  temple  which  arose 

On  Mount  Moriah's  slope,  the  proud  result 

Of  the  endeavors  of  a  noble  race. 

Whose  tireless  energy  and  wondrous  skill 

In  architecture  and  the  various  arts 

Were  famed  throughout  the  world ;  whose  nimble 

hands 
Carved  out  the  pillar  and  the  pedestal, 
The  column,  polished  and  cylindrical, 
The  slab  and  ornamented  architrave 
From  Parian  marble  of  unblemished  hue ; 

107 


^etabolc 

With  stately  cedars  from  the  sloping  sides 
Of  proud  but  long  denuded  Lebanon, 
Erected  that  superb  and  marvelous  pile 
Whose  wondrous  grandeur  and  imposing  form. 
Correct  proportions  and  true  symmetry 
And  perfect  uniformity  of  shape, 
Beauty  of  contour  and  embellishment, 
Splendor  of  finish  and  magnificence, 
Excelled  the  proudest  edifice  of  earth — 
A  fitting  tribute  to  the  Deity  ? 

Thou  hast  beheld  the  triumphs  of  his  skill 
Touched  by  the  desolating  hand  of  time, 
Crumble,  disintegrate  and  pass  away — 
Resolved  to  pristine  particles  of  dust. 

His  strongest  castle,  bold  and  insolent, 
Of  warlike  aspect  and  defiant  mien, 
With  wall  and  rampart  unassailable, 
Impregnable  to  the  assaults  of  man — 
Surrender  at  the  mold's  insidious  tread. 

Thou  hast  beheld 
His  palace  and  his  most  exalted  courts 
Bestrewn  with  fragments  of  the  Peristyle; 
The  broken  column,  slab  and  monolith 
O'erhung  with  pendant  moss  and  slimy  mold; 
Its  dismal  haunts  and  gloomy  apertures 


JVIctabote. 

Become  the  habitation  of  the  bat, 
The  hissing  serpent  and  the  scorpion. 
The  basking  lizard  dull  and  indolent. 
And  forms  of  reptile,  foul  and  venomous. 

The  throne  where  ruled  the  king  with  iron  sway 

Is  vacant  as  the  empty  wastes  of  air. 

Is  ruled  by  desolation  and  decay. 

No  more  the  sceptered  voice  in  stern  command 

Rings  through  its  halls,  nor  can  the  dazzling  flash 

Of  the  tiara  and  the  diadem, 

The  ensign  and  insignia  of  power. 

The  emblazoned  crest  and  jeweled  coat  of  arms, 

Or  proud  escutcheon  of  illustrious  name 

Excite  with  envy  or  inspire  with  fear. 

The  boisterous  carousal  and  the  sound 

Of  wassail  mirth,  inebriate  and  loud. 

And  midnight  revelry,  is  hushed  and  still. 

Time  shifts  the  scenes — 
The  haughty  prince  and  the  most  abject  slave, 
Who  cowered  and  trembled   'neath  his  austere 

glance. 
The  fawning  and  ignoble  sycophant. 
The  courtier  and  the  basest  serf,  have  met 
On  equal  terms  beneath  the  silent  dust. 

From  thy  celestial  'minions  thou  hast  seen 
His  proudest  temples  sink  into  decay, 
109 


JVIctabolc« 

Grim  desolation  and  desuetude; 

The  silent  hush  succeed  the  plaintive  hymn, 

The  anthem  cease  to  swell  in  rhythmic  praise, 

Or  vaulted  dome  re-echo  with  the  sound 

Of  pipe,  of  organ,  harp  and  dulcimer; 

The  voice  of  sacerdotal  eloquence 

Become  as  silent  as  the  unborn  thought ; 

The  fragrant  perfume  of  the  frankincense. 

The  scent  of  swinging  censor  and  of  myrrh, 

Supplanted  by  foul  odors  of  decay ; 

The  sacred  flame  extinguished  and  forgot. 

Its  votaries  and  congregations  fled ; 

The  forms  who  ministered  and  forms  who  knelt. 

The  burnished  altar  and  the  hoary  priest, 

Commingling  their  atoms  in  the  dust. 


Thou,  too,  hast  heard  the  clash  of  hostile  arms. 
The  blast  of  trumpet  and  the  martial  tread. 
The  neigh  of  charger  anxious  for  the  fray. 
The  din  and  the  confusion  of  the  fight, 
The  noise  and  turmoil  of  contending  hosts. 
The  crunch  of  breaking  bones  and  shrieks  of  pain ; 
The  angry  challenge  and  defiant  taunt, 
The  cries  of  rage  and  curses  of  despair. 
The  dying  groan  and  gnash  of  clench-ed  teeth, 
The  plea  for  mercy,  with  uplifted  arms. 
As  through  the  bosom  plunged  the  ruthless  steel ; 
The  clank  of  shackles  and  the  captives  groan, 
no 


JVIctabole. 

As  marched  the  vanquished  forth  to  servitude. 
To  ceaseless  toil  rewarded  by  the  scourge ; 
To  stand  within  the  slave  marts  and  endure 
The  taunts  and  bear  the  chains  of  slavery. 

Did'st  thou  look  down  with  neutral  radiance 

On  that  incursion  from  the  Scythian  plain, 

A  surging  multitude  beyond  the  power 

Of  mental  computation  and  which  seemed 

A  seething  mass  of  spears  and  shapes  of  war, 

A  sea  of  bellicose  barbarity, 

O'erwhelming  helpless  and  ill-fated  Tyre 

With  a  resistless  deluge  of  the  sword  ? 

Or  when  that  vast  and  uncomputed  horde 
Swept  westward  from  the  steppes  of  Tartary 
With  stern  Atilla  riding  at  its  head, 
Leaving  in  ruthless  Mongol  truculence, 
Awake,  both  red  and  blackened  by  the  torch ; 
The  *scourge,  perhaps  of  God,  perhaps  of  Helll 

Did'st  thou  not  flinch  when  t'ward  the  Christian 

west 
The  fell  invasion  of  the  Saracen 
Headed  its  course  with  crimson  scimitar ; 


*  Atilla  was  believed  by  the  early  Christians  to  have 
been  a  scourge  sent  direct  from  God,  and  some  historians 
aver  that  he  himself  encouraged  the  belief. 
Ill 


\ 


^Ictabolc 

Supplanting  the  mild  precepts  of  the  Cross 
With  those  of  lust,  of  hate  and  bigotry? 

*****  *         * 

Did'st  thou  not  weep  when  proud  Atlantis  sunk 
Beneath  the  surging  and  engulfing  waves. 
The  aftermath  of  Earth's  most  tragic  shock ; 
Or  when  the  ark,  upon  that  greatest  flood, 
Which  from  the  black  and  pregnant  heavens  fell, 
For  forty  days  and  forty  weary  nights, 
Above  the  ruins  of  a  deluged  world. 
Floated  in  safety  with  its  living  freight? 

Did'st  Thou  look  dowm  in  idle  apathy, 

When  grim  \'esuvius,  from  his  dormant  rest 

Awoke,  in  molten  fury,  and  o'ercame 

With  liquid  flood  and  scoriaceous  hail 

The  sleeping  cities  which  beneath  him  lay ; 

Interring  with  such  fiery  burial 

That  neither  remnant  nor  inhabitant 

Escaped  from  that  both  grave  and  funeral  pyre ; 

Nor  vestige  of  their  proud  magnificence 

Rose  from  the  scene  with  charred  and  blackened 

form; 
And  rolling  centuries,  in  passing,  left 
But  dim  remembrance  in  the  minds  of  men? 

Did'st  thou,  in  age  more  ancient  and  remote, 
Gaze  from  thy  poise  with  cold  complacency 
Upon  the  guilty  *cities  of  the  plain, 

*Sodom  and  Gommorah. 

112 


JVIctabolc, 

Surcharged  with  lust  and  the  extremes  of  sin, 
Which  Holy  Writ  avers,  when  'neath  the  shower 
Of  well  deserved  combustion  from  the  skies, 
They  sunk  in  conflagration  with  their  vice ; 
And  perishing,  to  ages  yet  to  come 
Bequeathed  a  foul  and  blasted  heritage, 
An  infamous  and  execrated  name  ? 


Art  thou  to  human  anguish  so  inured 
That  thou  hast  neither  sentiment  of  grief 
Nor  sense  of  pity  for  terrestrial  ills  ? 
Can  agonizing  and  heart-rending  scenes 
Relax  thy  obdurate  and  placid  face 
To  semblance  of  emotion  ?    Can  man's  woes 
Excite  thy  tranquil  immobility 
To  the  pathetic  look  of  tenderness. 
Or  touch  thy  bosom's  calm  indifference 
With  profuse  throbs  of  sympathetic  ruth? 
Can'st  thou  unmoved  behold  the  widow's  tears, 
Or  those  of  orphaned  childish  innocence, 
Or  those  which  wondering  infant  eyes  have  shed 
On  unresponsive  breasts,  which  nevermore 
Throb  with  maternal  warmth  and  suckle  them? 
Can'st  thou  with  cold,  unsympathizing  light 
Illuminate  the  ruined  maid's  despair 
Without  the  echo  of  a  lunar  groan? 
Hast  thou  no  pang  of  sorrow  or  regret 
For  guilty  man,  nor  tear  for  his  distress, 
113 


^Ictabole. 

Or  are  the  tides  within  thy  moist  control 
The  copious  weepings  of  thy  mellow  lids — 
Thy  sea  of  teardrops  shed  for  human  woes? 

Did'st  thou  behold,  when  that  most  favored  star, 
Transcending  in  refulgence  all  the  orbs 
Of  boundless  and  bejewelled  firmament, 
With  flash  of  overwhelming  brilliancy 
Plunged  through  the  wondering  heavens,  whose 

pale  spheres 
In  contrast  dimmed  to  insignificance, 
And  gliding  through   the  twinkling  realms  of 

space, 
Burst  with  such  splendor  as  the  envious  stars 
Had  never  witnessed  since  the  heavens  stood; 
Halting  in  glory  o'er  Judea's  plain? 

Halted  and  burned  in  stellar  reverence, 

Above  a  fold  where  wrapped  in  swaddling  clothes 

Anew-born  infant  in  a  manger  lay  ; 

In  humble  contrast  to  the  throne  of  light, 

He  left  to  tread  the  thorny  paths  of  earth ; 

In  undefiled  and  stainless  innocence, 

Which  earth  with  all  her  foul  iniquities 

Might  never  tarnish  nor  pollute  with  sin. 

Perhaps  upon  that  sage  triumvirate 

Which  journeyed  from  the  famed  and  affluent 

east. 

114 


JVIetabolc 

In  regal  pomp  and  rich  munificence. 
To  lay  their  costly  presents  at  His  feet 
And  worship  at  that  new-born  infant's  shrine, 
Thou  shed'st  thy  mellow  rays  and  lit  the  way 
O'er  deserts  to  the  hills  of  Bethlehem ; 
Dividing  honors  with  that  prince  of  stars. 

Wert  thou  a  witness  on  that  selfsame  night 
When  humble  shepherds  on  Judea's  hills, 
Watching  their  flocks  with  all  attentive  care, 
Beheld  unwonted  grandeur  in  the  skies? 
The  ordinary  stars  were  glittering 
In  unaccustomed  glory,  and  the  orbs 
Which  twinkle  in  that  pale  celestial  train 
Which  cleaves  in  twain  the  ambient  universe, 
Had  changed  their  milky  hue  to  that  of  gold; 
But  all  the  forms  of  stellar  brilliancy 
Made  way  for  that  most  bright  and  luminous 
Which  glowed  with  holy  radiance,  which  might 
Not  emanate  from  aught  but  sacred  star ; 
Dispensing  such  serene  magnificence 
That  e'en  the  admiring  heavens  stood  abashed. 

At  such  a  sight, 
Though  savoring  more  of  blessing  than  of  curse, 
Small  marvel  'twas  their  unenlightened  minds 
Were  seized  with  sudden  and  peculiar  fear, 
So  that  their  trembling  knees  together  smote. 
"S 


J^ctabolc 

And  as  they  stood 
In  awestruck  trepidation  and  alarm 
The  heavens  as  the  bifurcated  door 
Of  some  familiar,  hospitable  tent, 
Parted  their  gorgeous  curtains  and  disclosed 
A  multitude  of  the  celestial  host, 
Numerous  beyond  all  efforts  to  compute. 
Solemn  of  countenance,  yet  beautiful 
Beyond  the  comprehension  of  the  eye, 
Surging  in  such  immaculate  array 
Of  various  raiment  as  the  stainless  white 
Of  snows  which  countless  centuries  have  placed 
On  rugged  Ararat's  tremendous  heights, 
Were  blended  in  an  essence  I 


Then  for  a  moment's  time 
The  heavens  were  silent  as  those  forms  were  fair ; 
Then  instantly  throughout  the  realms  of  light 
Was  heard  a  crash  in  sacred  unison, 
As  all  the  trumpets  and  the  harps  of  heaven 
And  all  the  varied  instruments  of  earth 
Had  burst  in  one  grand,  detonating  chord ; 
Now  rose  the  quavering,  vibratory  tones 
Of  flageolet  and  solitary  reed  ; 
Now  as  a  blending  of  all  instruments 
In  echoing  harmonics,  sweet  and  low, 
In  soft  reverberating  resonance  ; 
The  voice  of  cornet  and  sonorous  horn 
ii6 


jVIctabok. 

Blent  with  the  warbhng-  accents  of  the  flute 
And  chime  of  mellow  bells,  unknown  to  earth ; 
Paean  of  dulcimer  and  harpsichord 
In  combination  of  concordant  tone, 
Melting  the  stars  with  dulcet  symphony. 

But  sweeter  than  those  instruments  of  joy. 
Tuned  by  angelic  fingers,  rose  the  strains 
Of  vocal  concord  and  mellifluence, 
As  swelled  in  chorus  those  seraphic  throats 
In  falling  cadence  and  ecstatic  flight, 
Surpassing  heaven's  grandest  melody 
In  all  that  appertains  to  choral  song ! 
The  acme  of  celestial  harmony 
Which  angel  ears  discerned  with  glad  surprise ; 
But  sweeter  than  that  song,  the  glad  refrain 
Wafted  from  angel  tongues  innumerable. 
To  earth  and  the  inhabitants  thereof, 
"Peace !  Peace  on  Earth,  the  Deity's  Good  Will !" 
*****  *  * 

Didst  thou  not  shrink,  when  on  Golgotha's  crest 
Three  crosses  as  three  grizzly  spectres  rose, 
Spreading  their  ghastly  arms  protestingly, 
In  silent  malediction  o'er  the  scene, 
And  even  nature  paused  and  stood  aghast 
In  shuddering  horror  at  the  awful  sight. 
Relaxing  with  the  trembling  earthquake  shock 
Her  sympathetic  tension? 
"7 


And  when  the  Hghtning  rent  the  canopy 

Of  black  sepulchral  clouds,  which  like  a  shroud 

Enveloped  earth  on  that  terrific  night, 

They  lit  a  face  compassionate  and  pure, 

E'en  from  beneath  the  cruel  crown  of  thorns 

Glancing  in  pity,  kindled  not  with  wrath 

At  his  tormentors,  those  who  loved  him  not — 

The  multitude  which  surged  about  the  cross 

Cursing  with  accents  vile  and  crying  loud, 

Crucify  Him  !    Crucify  Him  ! 

"Rejected  and  despised  of  men — " 

Earth,  which  hath  ever  slain  her  noblest  sons. 

Slays  also  her  Redeemer ! 

*****  *  * 

Creation  is  but  systematized  decay, 

And  Change  is  blazoned  on  the  very  skies, 

As  in  ephemeral  telluric  scenes. 

And  through  the  whole  cosmogony  of  worlds, 

Is  written  and  rewritten  ! 

Thou  who  hast  seen  the  stately  mastodon 
Roam  at  his  will  o'er  earth's  prolific  plains, 
And  the  unwieldy  megatherium 
Dragging  his  cumbrous,  disproportioned  weight 
Through  quaternary  marsh  and  stagnant  fen  ; 
Or  watched  the  ichthyosaurus  plow  the  seas. 
Churning  the  waters  till  the  glistening  foam 
ii8 


Mctabole. 

Rode  on  the  greenish  undulating  waves; 
And  huge  saurian  and  reptilian  shapes 
Amphibious  and  pelagic,  swim  and  crawl, 
Cleaving  the  waters  with  tremendous  strokes, 
Writhing  with  foul  contortions  in  disport, 
Splashing  and  laving  in  the  thermal  seas 
Of  the  remote  and  prehistoric  past ; 
Thou  who  hast  seen  them  fail  and  pass  away 
Shalt  also  shine  when  man  has  disappeared. 

Thou  who  hast  seen  the  rank  luxuriance 

Of  vegetation  flourish  and  decay, 

Vanish  and  pass  away  insensibly, 

Perish  from  off  the  earth  which  nourished  it, 

And  time  supplant  its  rich  exuberance 

With  arid  wastes  of  bleak  sterifity ; 

Wilt  thou  look  down  in  silent  unconcern 

When  countless  eons  of  denuding  time 

Have  rendered  earth  as  barren  as  thyself, 

Bereft  of  verdure's  last  habiliment ; 

When  men,  with  all  their  passions  and  desires. 

Their  strange  combines  of  evil  and  of  good, 

Their  proud  achievements  and  exalted  aims 

Have  pas.'jed  away  forever? 

The  universe  is  but  a  sepulcher 
For  worlds  defunct,  as  earth  for  living  forms! 
119 


JvictAbole. 

And  thou,  O  Moon,  who  hast  surveyed  all  thia. 
Thyself  shalt  he  consumed  with  fervent  heat, 
For  e'en  the  firmament  shall  pass  away. 
*****  *  * 

Supreme  Intelligence, 
Thou  who  createst  worlds  and  satellites, 
(And  Who  canst  estimate  the  universe) 
Weighing  the  heavens  in  Thy  balances, 
Who  hast  ordained  the  laws  of  cosmic  space 
To  guide  aright  the  planetary  spheres; 
Thou  Ruler  of  the  infinite  and  great. 
Alike  of  vast  and  infinitesimal ; 
Thou  fundamental  cause  of  all  that  is. 
In  process  of  creation  and  decay, 
In  the  mutation  and  the  ravages 
Sequent  of  constant  lapse  and  flight  of  time 
Reveal  Thy  laws  that  we  may  follow  them : 
Help  us  to  recognize  in  all  Thy  works, 
Whether  of  atom  or  stupendous  mass. 
The  hand  of  Deity. 


FINI& 


14 


^20 

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